


The Onset

by brokenmemento



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/F, Good versus Evil, Post Season 2, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento
Summary: A new teacher at Baxter High gets all of Greendale’s attention after Mary Wardwell hires her as her replacement. Suspicious of her arrival, Zelda decides to find out for herself. The truth, unfortunately, may be the catalyst for a centuries old battle in the making.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman & Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 29
Kudos: 131





	1. The Talk of the Town

**Author's Note:**

> *I'm new to the fandom, so please be gentle. I just loved the potential of the Zelda/Wardwell/Madam Satan pairing, so I had to write something. Mapped out right now, this will be a two-part series.  
**Title taken from the Robert Frost Poem  
***Rating will eventually go up.  
****Thanks to those who take the time to read/kudos/comment.

** _Part I: The Begining_ **

** _1.1- The Talk of the Town_ **

When Sabrina slides the flier across the table at breakfast, Zelda is mid tea and mid smoke, Hilda flitting around with dishes of delectable smelling goods to send everyone on their day. In the midst of putting a plate in front of Sabrina, she tuts her approval and offers a smile. 

“Oh, how I always love going to your school, catching up on what it is you do. The mortals are interesting to interact with too,” Hilda muses. She gets a far off long spreading across her face, an amused daydream that gets thrown out of her like an electric shock when Zelda’s palm flattens against the piece of paper and pulls it closer to view.

“Meet the teacher? Why in Satan’s name would we want to attend? After all, Greendale is a small community. Both your Auntie Hilda and I are familiar with every pupil and teacher within the walls of Baxter High. It would seem redundant to go,” Zelda explains, smooth disdain curling around the formation of every syllable. 

“Now, Zelds,” Hilda coos, more as a method to soften the blow of her “no,” no doubt, to Sabrina. 

“The mortuary’s busy bustle must have distracted you from the town gossip,” Ambrose smiles cheekily, stuffing his smile with a slice of toast. “Everyone’s going on about the new face at Baxter this year.”

Sabrina shakes her head and rolls her eyes at her cousin, then smiles and retrieves the flier from in front of Zelda, who’s own interest is piqued, to say the least. Greendale, while not closed to the world, rarely sees the arrival of someone new. Outsiders don’t come and insiders don’t leave. It’s just the way of things and has been for hundreds of years. 

Fresh mortal blood raises more than an eyebrow with Zelda, despite every other soul under the Spellman roof seeming to think otherwise. She opts for casual indifference.

“This town is so starved for entertainment, we now make a huge deal out of a new educator? Hardly what I would call titillating, but to each their own I suppose,” Zelda replies. 

“I’ve seen her,” Ambrose smiles, rather wolfishly. While having a proclivity for the male gender, he sometimes dabbles with the female form too. He mimics the curvature of her body and winks.

“Oh, must we…” Zelda begins but he cuts her off in his excitement. 

“Easily a 7 everywhere else, but in Greendale? A 10 for sure. She will have no trouble at all finding someone to…” 

The forgotten toast in his hand suddenly appears in his mouth, stuffing whatever was next down with bread crumbs into his windpipe. Zelda purses her lips and moves her palm out of its bent form from the incantation she’d muttered as he wound himself up. 

“Honestly, have we forgotten couth here?” Zelda questions. 

“Our family has been through a lot this year. A ton of changes. Seems that Baxter High is not immune to it either,” Sabrina explains. “What with Mrs. Wardwell taking over as principal, that left her spot in the English department open. I guess she found a replacement.”

Something else flares in Zelda at hearing Wardwell’s name, a wicked feeling not entirely comforting. It settles like a rock in the pit of her stomach and she feels leaden. 

Lilith had used Mary Wardwell’s body as a plaything for the past two years. Knowing now that she sits on the throne of Hell while Mary Wardwell is once again around to walk school halls is all a bit unsettling. Like every other damn thing going on lately. She tries to swallow the growing lump in her throat. 

Sabrina holds up another piece of paper, the small typed font is strewn across it. Her finger scans and stops a second later. “Period 2B: Introduction to British Literature. Mrs. Malack.”

“British? Oh, how lovely!” Hilda exclaims and goes soft again, the shores of the long left isle a whisper of an ache for her. It reminds her of their past when life was less stationary and Edward was with them. Their family full…

“The Brits always had a particular melancholy to them that I appreciated,” Zelda remarks. “Who isn’t drawn to a good Shakespearan tale of sprites, fairies, and witches?”

“I’m not sure what’s going to be on her syllabus this year, but we can always find out?” Sabrina asks, the hopeful edge in her voice enough to stomp any rebuttal from Zelda again. 

“Oh, goodness. Was there ever really any doubt that I would go? After all the things I’ve done for this family. I suppose it will be easy to meander through an insufferable night for your sake,” Zelda scoffs, preens a little against invisible lint she dusts off the knee of her skirt. 

Sabrina tosses her a smile and stands abruptly. “Better get going then.” She rounds the table, offers quick pecks to both women. Hilda embraces the girl soundly, wrapping her in goodness and warmth while Zelda leans against the air, letting the space between the show of affection be enough of a show of her love for the youngster. 

“Off you go now,” Zelda points. 

Ambrose lays a hand over Sabrina’s as she pays his shoulder on the way out. “Ah, the pluckiness of youth,” he sighs.

“You’re but a stone’s throw away in age,” Zelda says, now with her own eye roll. He smiles and takes his toast on his exit while Hilda goes back to the morning duties. 

Zelda tries to focus on the text of the newspaper underneath her hand but finds her nails dragging across its surface instead, small tatters springing from their trek across the page. 

Another typical morning in the Spellman household. So why does it feel so different then? Zelda moves the paper out of the way, the loopy font announcing Baxter’s Meet the Teacher Night practically burning through the previous page. Zelda reaches and crumples it in her hand. Stopping herself halfway through, she tries to smooth out the ruffles she’s created, not only before her but within her. 

The air feels charged, alight with something she can’t quite peg. But hasn’t she felt it before now? She knows it can’t be Lilith, knows the edges of her power. The woman hasn’t shown her face ages. So what of this? It unsettles Zelda to the core. 

Something new is in Greendale. And judging by Sabrina’s schedule nearby, Zelda aims to find out just exactly what the newest resident has brought with her. On the nearby calendar, she scrawls “Meet the Teacher: 7 pm.” She stares at it for a while then leaves its reminder for all to see. Forty-eight hours. Then maybe she will have some answers. 


	2. Greetings Are An Unsettling Thing

It’s still summer holiday for yet a few more days but she absolutely cannot wait. Zelda finds herself climbing the stairs to Baxter High, having first surveyed the perimeter for another soul, save Mary Wardwell’s whom she knows is within due to the solitary car parked in the lot. 

The door is locked, new-fangled ideas about “school safety” or what have you, so with a small flick of her wrist, Zelda pops the lock and then enters the building, sealing it once more behind her. 

As her heels click on the tile traveling to Wardwell’s office, she feels the pace of her heart quicken. Knowing what to expect with Lilith inhabiting the body of Mary Wardwell is one thing. Approaching the women as her own mortal self is another entirely. Having spoken only a few words to one another in the past, Zelda tries to decide how she will reconcile this visit with the version of her the other woman knows. The one that hasn’t grown to know her a little over the past years and become a fixture in Sabrina’s life. 

She decides on concerned aunt and matriarch as she delicately taps on the glass to Mary Wardwell’s office. Her heart feels as if she will lose it any instant from its jumping out of her chest. She finds herself trying to check her own reflection through the pebbled glass but stops immediately when she realizes what's happening. What in Heaven’s name is she doing?

She doesn’t have time to answer as she hears and sees movement behind the door. A bewildered face pokes out and looks around, clearly in shock to see someone standing in front of her. 

When she opens the door more widely, Zelda gets her first glimpse of Mary Wardwell again. The image of her _ before _ before and before now and _ now _ now are all intermingled. Not quite as mousey as previously, but certainly not as similar siren as Lilith, Wardwell has managed to blend in everything. 

Hair no longer in a bun, the soft and wild curls frame her face, stark blue eyes peering out from a stylish pair of black frames. Her skirt and jacket combo is conservative but tasteful and Zelda has to remind herself that she doesn’t know this person at all, despite the passage of time. 

“Ms. Spellman, what a surprise. I thought I was here alone. Not many want to be here at present, grabbing the last days of their summer and all. What can I do for you?” she asks, her voice a little softer without Lilith behind it. 

Zelda’s throat is incredibly dry and she would swear she was about to pass out from lightheadedness, despite never being afflicted with it ever in the past. Squaring her shoulders, she tries to project an air of confidence that she doesn’t feel all of a sudden. 

“Yes, Ms. Wardwell,” she begins, glancing to the etching in the pane. “Or Principal, as I suppose I should address you.”

“Oh,” Wardwell makes a face and then waves off with a scoff. Her face softens and she steps away from blocking the entrance. “Where are my manners? Do come in.” She motions and Zelda finds her body lurching forward without her volition. 

There’s no magic inside, long rid of the residue Lilith would have left behind. It feels empty and _ normal, _and Zelda almost chokes aloud on the blankness of it. Settling into a nearby chair, she crosses her legs and leans back, watching Wardwell round her desk. 

“Now, where were we?” she asks, steepling her fingers and straightening her back. The delicate curve of her chest rests on the hardwood and Zelda jerks her gaze away before the woman sitting across from her has a chance to notice her noticing. For fuck's sake...

“Yes, my niece. Sabrina,” Zelda grounds out with the ease of sandpaper. She clears her throat as Wardwell flinches ever so slightly and begins anew, less severe this time. “She brought my attention to her meet the teacher night through a flier that was mailed home, as well as a class schedule.”

“Yes,” Mary nods. “Night after next.”

“I was curious about one of the names on the listing. I thought I was familiar with everyone currently employed at Baxter High, yet one name proved foreign to me. Her English teacher. A Ms. Malack?” 

“Ah, yes,” Mary nods again. “Our new hire. She just recently came to town and needed a job. Since my…” The woman stops and gets a far off look, lost somewhere in her own timeline, no doubt, then refocuses on Zelda again. “...ascent to principal, Baxter was in need of a replacement, you see? Ms. Malack has excellent qualifications if that’s why you’re concerned.”

“Not overly. It just seemed a tad odd that a purported young woman such as herself would find a home in Greendale. Such a small community of people here. Hardly one for such a soul as herself. Not exactly wide on the dating pool.”

Mary looks taken aback by the dating comment but Zelda watches her quickly veil that with understanding, personally so. “No,” she agrees. 

“Where did you say she was from?”

A hand goes to Mary’s throat, red climbing like vine. Zelda tries not to acknowledge her own burn rising. 

“West? That’s all I know. She listed an address in Greendale. I didn’t ask for previous,” Mary admits. 

“Are we letting anything walk in off the streets now to teach our children? Shouldn’t some background be done on her?” Zelda queries, a little hard she realizes. 

“Ms. Spellman,” Mary begins softly but firm. “Ms. Malack has passed all required background checks I’m legally required to do. Her interview went well. I found her likable and personable. The students will love her, I’m sure.”

“Oh, so now we’re into pleasing the children as opposed to offering them the best possible education?” Zelda turns her nose up. She’d laugh at her own statement if she weren’t trying to play her part. Or if she laughed much, ever. 

Mary does it for her. It’s amused and exasperated at the same time. While she has every right to tell Zelda to get out, she meets her with a smile that would weaken any man's knees and Zelda finds her own trembling. She steadies them with a well-manicured hand and leans forward, combative and not at all drawn in. 

“To be honest, it’s not like I had a line around the block for the position,” Mary tells her. “I took two out of two and ran with it. Come to the meeting. I’m sure that will put your mind at ease. If not, we can discuss then what plans, if any, should be made for the betterment of Sabrina’s education.” 

Zelda rolls her eyes and leans back against the chair with her shoulder, body turned away from Mary. She’s feeling more at ease with the act until she hears a soft whisper. 

“Please,” Mary says. “Give her a chance. For Sabrina’s sake. For mine” she extends a hand and Zelda takes it instantly, shaking the soft edges of it and wanting to hold on for longer than is socially acceptable. Quickly, she stands and nods. 

Out on the steps, she takes her first breath in what feels like ages.

What is happening? She’s behaved like some trollop, tongue practically wagging, begging to be petted. Had it been like this when Lilith was playing dress-up? If not, then why is it happening now, Zelda’s stomach practically knotting in the presence of a spinster schoolmarm?

“This too shall pass,” she mutters into the wind. Something unnerving once again courses through her body. For someone who likes control more often than not, Zelda fights not to tailspin into chaos. 


	3. The Face in the Crowd

Like any good ruler, she spends most of her days with fire in her eyes, sulphur in her nose, and screams in her ears. Even though within order, Hell still demands her presence more often than not. 

It’s seemed like life eternal since she was last here, last amongst the cloying bodies of humanity that she developed an affinity for. After all, they make good shells. Used to the traffic in the land of magma and brimstone, she revels in the gathering of souls cramping the halls of the school with enough delicious sin to feed her once over. 

Bodies rifle past coming hither and thither, all in a rush to meet the same tired faces as before. Except one. The young woman’s brown eyes turn to the color of honey as she watches Lilith. Even from this distance, they seem to glow and Lilith supposes there was never any sense in trying to hide from the new recruit. They’ll have their formal meeting soon enough, but for now, Zelda Spellman can be the go-between for them both. 

She watches as Zelda shoves her way past, shoulders brushing Lilith lightly. As if blindsided by a truck, she spins back to where Lilith is standing but doesn’t see her face. Lilith has made sure of that, a glamour hiding her true form. But she knows Zelda feels her. She sends her essence out even stronger, enough to remind the eldest Spellman sister who exactly she now answers to. 

If Zelda figures this out, Lilith doesn’t know. She’s gathering her facade and marching toward the honey eyed life force, away from the watchful eye of the grand Madam of Hell. Lilith jolts as another figure blocks Zelda’s determined path and she sneers outwardly. 

Mary Wardwell, a picture-perfect “glow up” as these wretched human teenagers call it, is standing in her path to her new hire. A dazzling green ensemble has Zelda Spellman spellbound and Lilith almost ends the encounter straight away. She’d be surprised if she hadn’t chanced upon them earlier in the week as she wandered her old stomping grounds. She did_ enjoy_ this place after all. A teeming hotbed for lacking morality….

What she had found left her, quite frankly, amused then. There sat the stone figure of Zelda in front of Mary Wardwell, cracking like some fallen figure. Lilith would like to think the reaction was a byproduct of their time together, Zelda unable to split the difference just yet. But she knows better.

Even in their brief encounters, it had been there, hadn’t it? The static force of something not quite right but oh so good. Teetering between need and want, of good sense and lost effort. So really, can Lilith blame Zelda for her response now? She has merely paved the way for it. If it fails to happen, that’s on Zelda. Even if it is with a now pathetic substitute for the power she wielded when she was in the picture. 

Mary Wardwell places her hand on Zelda’s shoulder and Lilith rolls her own, tries to not seek out the ghost of that touch to take with her back to the pits. She hisses in dissatisfaction, something she loathes to feel. Emotion should be full of cruelness, decadent excess, abundant submission by lower beings. This one is too closely tied to jealousy which is what mortals feel. This is beyond beneath what she should be feeling as Queen of the underworld. 

She watches as the two walk together to the teacher’s door, begin a dialogue. She eases closer to catch a passing word but not so close as to trip Zelda completely just yet. They’ve got a while left before it resorts to that.

******************

She’s clipping along at a pace Hilda and Sabrina can’t catch up with. She’d left them all but stationary in the parking lot as she’d practically taken the steps by two into Baxter High. 

It’s later than she would have liked to arrive, both Sabrina and Hilda taking an exorbitant amount of time to get ready. Finally out the door and at their destination, Zelda could stand it no longer. Way past justifying her concerns to either Sabrina or that dolt of a principal, Mary Wardwell, she has decided to take matters into her own hands.

Something is off, unspeakably so. If Sabrina and Hilda won’t admit it, fine. She will find the source of the uneasiness dripping from every facet of life. There’s a dynamic afloat that is vying for dominance. Zelda just can’t figure out what it is yet. But she will. 

She sees the face she’s seeking down the corridor and she gains tunnel vision, nothing existing outside of the body in front of her 100 meters. She moves with purpose and idly hits a passerby. 

The breath knocked out of her, she spins and sees nothing. Her heart is staggering in her chest and she feels it swallowing her whole. Somewhere, out there, she feels her. It’s been too long since she’s seen her face, but Zelda isn’t obtuse enough to know when Lilith is or has been around. She’d felt it that day she left the school, feels it again now. But there’s something else butting against Lilith, an outside force that feels dangerous and lethal. 

She turns and meets the gaze of Ms. Malack whose attention has left the parent and student set in front of her. Instead, it’s hyper trained on Zelda standing a few feet away. Shaking off Lilith’s power with the skill of removing tree sap, she starts again. Her own eyes bore into the brown ones ahead. 

She slides to a stop as Mary Wardwell blocks her path, all green and teeth as a hand rests on Zelda’s shoulder. 

“Ms. Spellman. So glad to have caught you. I was hoping after the other day, I could get to you before you met Ms. Malack. Maybe to serve as a buffer for your...” she motions up and down Zelda’s body, whose face holds a warning look “zealousness.” 

“I assure you, Principal Wardwell, one will not be necessary.” 

“Please, call me Mary. And let me just tag along, get you two off to the right start,” Mary smiles again and Zelda thinks she’s going to be sick. For a number of reasons. The sentiment she’s receiving is gag-inducing in its sincerity but it’s also causing an adverse bodily reaction Zelda finds unwanted altogether. 

She follows Mary the last few paces and is face to face with the cause of most of her external and internal conflict as of late. Maybe in her early thirties, the woman in front of her gazes hotly from light brown orbs. If she wasn’t already losing it, she’d swear to Lilith there was a glow to them. It raises her hackles and she refuses the proffered hand the youngster offers. 

Ms. Malack shoots Mary a look which Zelda can read perfectly: _ get a load of this old broad. _She finds she’s annoyed by the woman’s lack of care toward her pitiful manners, but ignores it all the same.

“Ms. Malack. This is Sabrina Spellman’s aunt, Ms. Zelda Spellman. Sabrina will be in your British Literature course come this fall and Ms. Spellman here wanted to meet you for herself, having been a Greendale resident for many years, in addition to one of the town's original families,” Mary offers by way of introduction. 

“At the risk of seeming ungrateful, I do thank you for that fabulous shpiel, _ Principal _ Wardwell,” emphasizing her title a little strongly. “I can speak for myself though.” She glares over at the other woman who looks sheepish at having been verbally reprimanded in front of her new protege. Zelda, however, is unfazed. She’s had over a hundred years to deal with human behavior. 

An eyebrow raises and Ms. Malack clasps her hands together with a smile. “Oookay” she says drawing out the syllables and it goes down Zelda like a cheese grater. “To what do I owe this somewhat hostile encounter, judging by your body language and all?”

Zelda leers but is stopped by Mary’s hand touching her forearm. Her finger rubs gently over Zelda’s skin and she finds herself metaphorically shoved back in her cage, cornered by as little as a touch. 

“Auntie Z?” Sabrina asks, dumbfounded at the tense situation she’s walked in to. Hilda ducks slightly, well aware of what’s going on. Zelda watches as Hilda’s face brightens and tugs Sabrina to close the gap. 

“Oh, Ms. Malack. Boy, have we talked about you lately,” Hilda begins but eases back on the truth when she catches Zelda’s look. “Greendale doesn’t get many new educators, so Sabrina was thrilled to meet you, what with Mrs. Wardwell’s promotion to headmaster.”

“Principal,” Sabrina reminds. 

“Ah, yes. Potato, po-ta-toe” Hilda jokes but settles again.

“It’s quite alright,” Malack smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” 

She shakes both their hands and continues on. “I realize that my arrival has caused some...commotion.” A passing look to Zelda but erased just as quick. “But I assure you all-I’ve got a great year planned out for my students and hope we can have a bit of fun in the process.” 

“What’s on the docket then?” Hilda questions and Zelda finds this all so bloody pointless. It’s not why she has busted through the doors of this place and made a categorical fool of herself up to this point. 

“Principal Wardwell has given me some liberty in picking what pieces I select for class. I’ve tried to go with a few of my favorites in addition to ones I think the students will enjoy. Of course Shakespeare but I’ve always loved Milton and Dante.”

“Oh, you’re pulling in the Italians? I’ve always found Milton a little heavy-handed but Alighieri is absolutely delightful. What text are you choosing as the focus?” Zelda stops her motive for a second. “_Inferno _is a must-read.” 

“True, it is a fascinating text. But I’ve always felt like it got more love when _ Paradiso _ had just as much to offer,” Malack shrugs. 

Hilda hiccups an “oh” out while Zelda palms blindly beside her for Wardwell. She brushes against all manner of body parts before she finds the woman’s arm and makes a mental note to apologize for the groping later. Mary holds tightly and mentions something about sitting down but Zelda remains upright. 

“Alright now,” Mary says, locking elbows with Zelda. “So great to see you, Ms. Malack. It sounds as if you have everything planned out.” 

Before she knows it, she’s being steered away. Behind her, Zelda and Sabrina make their goodbyes. 

“Well that went...well,” Mary tries and escorts Zelda to the end of the hall. She puts both hands on Zelda’s shoulders and lifts her up in a gesture meant to instill confidence. “Chin up, dear. I’m sure everything will go swimmingly. If you’ll excuse me.”

She is pulled away by another faculty member. Zelda’s lost somewhere else but comes back when she feels Mary touch her again. “Go home, Ms. Spellman. Remember though: I’m a phone call away.” A slip of paper makes its way into Zelda’s hand and she looks at the number written on it. 

She pockets it with every intention of going home. 

Except she doesn’t. 

She makes up a lame excuse to both Sabrina and Hilda, waits till the lights fall, one by one, in Baxter High. She watches as soul after soul exits, but none of them her. When it seems as if the school will be primarily empty, she magics the key code pad again and slips into the hall. 

It’s dark and that energy she felt earlier is still thrumming. A light ahead flicks off and out comes a body, which Zelda finds herself suspending in time and space. Just as quickly, it’s out of her magical bindings and staring her down.

“Are you insane?” the voice asks as Zelda thinks _why yes, I might be _ and she hurtles it into the wall, her forearm across Ms. Malack’s throat. 

“What in Heaven’s name are you?” she has a chance to yell at the teacher before they’re both colliding with the wall, hard. 

The collision on the bricks causes a fluttering and rush of air, knocking Zelda back. When she stands upright again, she feels all her air leave her in a gasp. Gleaming white wings extend from the woman’s back, swaying elegantly in the space between them. 

“Well, I guess you have your answer?” Ms. Malack says gently. Her eyes have changed to a golden color and Zelda has no idea what to do. She’s never encountered a being from the other side, much less an angel. She doesn’t know quite what to do or quite what to feel. 

“If you’re here for Sabrina, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. I’ll fight to the death to make sure of that,” Zelda breathes out in a pushed whisper. Tears slide down her cheeks and since when is she crying? 

“I’m not here for her,” Malack shakes her head. Her wings fold slightly behind her, then extend again in graceful awe. Zelda is frozen. “I’m here for you. And for her.” She nods and Zelda turns to look down the darkened corridor, at the faint light that now goes dim.

Exiting the office, Mary Wardwell walks out and locks the door behind her. Zelda turns back to Malack, her mouth agape. Before she has time to process, the large wings have enveloped her in a dark corner, covering her mouth from making a sound. Heels click by and honey eyes warn against trying to escape. 

A bang. Darkness unending. They’re alone now in the school. 

Wings release her and fold until they’re out of sight. Even though Zelda has devoted her life to the Church of Night, nee Lilith, she can’t be so delusional as to dismiss the women’s beauty. The False God sure knows how to create them…

“So I guess we have a lot to discuss,” Malack admits. 

That’s when it hits Zelda. _ Mal’ak_, Hebrew for "angel." How had she not caught the obvious? 

“Yes, I suppose we do” Zelda confirms. "Let’s take this elsewhere though, shall we?”

Malack falls into line behind her. It’s the weirdest feeling in the world, having an angel fall in deference to her lead. They walk out into the night together, into a new world where both sides are now in play. Zelda hopes she hasn’t made a grave mistake.


	4. The Truth of the Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter to round out the exposition of the story. Chaos, conflict, and romance are coming.

“Angels in Greendale. Now I really have seen everything,” Zelda shakes her head and paces through the mossy forest floor. 

“As if that’s the weirdest thing you’ve got going on around here,” Malack says sarcastically from her perch nearby on a tree trunk.

“Oh, the False God gives you wit too?” Zelda shoots back. “My, my. He really is a being of Wonders.” 

“Kind of what we’ve been saying all along,” Malack shrugs. “But all of you just don’t want to listen.” She points a finger, mirthful, and smiles. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Zelda growls.

“And why shouldn’t I be? It’s not every day I get to encounter a  _ High Priestess _ of the Church of Night,” Malack says in faux admiration, then makes a face. “If that’s even what you’re calling yourselves anymore.” 

This stops Zelda’s pacing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Indignant.

Malack lays back against the log and stares up at the stars. Somewhere in the wood, an owl speaks into the night. 

“You’ve sort of had a change in hands recently. Sorry I didn’t get here right when it happened. I just get dispatched when I’m told,” the woman answers. 

“You mean by the False God…”

“Or _ The _ God, but I feel like that’s splitting a hair you didn’t even know existed. Anyway, like I said. I’m not here for all of that. I have other reasons.”

“Yes, as you stated in the school,” Zelda cuts off and then joins the creature on the fallen log. It’s damp, chilled, but she assumes Malack doesn’t feel it because of what she is, no part of her mortal. “Can I see them again?”

The question comes out a faint whisper and not anywhere near what Zelda had meant to speak. She feels ashamed for being taken aback by this thing beside her, but she can’t help it, High Priestess or no. 

Malack sits up and Zelda thinks she’s about to get zinged again but the woman’s face softens. “It’s not a parlor trick. The wings.”

“It’s just, I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. And I’ve been around for quite some time,” Zelda defends her question. 

“No, I should think not,” Malack agrees. She lays a hand on Zelda, who would absolutely be lying if she didn’t say she felt everything. The angel’s raw goodness is almost painful, like in that lethal way Zelda detected earlier. It’s so opposite everything she’s felt as a witch, so different from the life she’s devoted herself to. 

“What do I call you? Sara? Nefti?” Zelda pulls away, singed.

“Ah, nice. But no, I’m neither Seraphim or Nephilim. I’m down the ranks a bit. I come from a group known as the Powers.” 

“And you’re here for me. For Mary Wardwell,” Zelda states, but is searching. Malack shrugs again. 

“Yes? Maybe. You, for sure. Mary Wardwell is another story altogether. I’m here to make sure no Godlike beings jump into her again and brings Hell to Earth. I’m also here to learn of Lilith’s angle. Are we still at war, good and evil? Or is she content to let Earth fall as it may for now, but understand that ultimately, this realm belongs to Him.”

“You’re joking,” Zelda scoffs. 

“Oh, that I were,” Malack answers. “You’re to set up a meeting. Not immediately, per se. I realize these things take time, which we’ve both got. I’m patient but I need to know if your Mistress of Hell is content enough to take in those who don’t earn Heaven. And you,” Malack pokes. “What’s your role in all of this? Do you still offer your allegiance to Lilith in the same way as Lucifer?”

“My only devotion is to my family. To upholding the sanctity of our life together and honoring the commitments we’ve forged,” Zelda sits back. 

“Love. The greatest of all the magic.”

“Love is weakness,” Zelda offers but without much punch. It sounds hollow coming out. 

“Not to sound repetitive, but it’s what the entire other side is built on. Zelda, please find out that which I ask.”

“I can’t,” Zelda says, truly anguished. “I serve the Queen now.”

“Is it not your job then, as High Priestess, to know of your duties? Plus it would give you a chance to get a sitting with that Queen of yours,” Malack waggles her eyebrows.

It’s so much to take in, the information. Of angels known as Powers, her expectation to be the go-between to the realms, her own devotion questioned and scrutinized. Zelda feels lightheaded again. Slightly, she swoons. 

“Hey, now,” Malack says softly. She pulls Zelda into her, her goodness once again reaching to curl around her body. She wants to tell her to let go, to stop whatever she is doing. She’s immobile though, lost deep in whatever sensation is occurring. 

“Why me? I’m not your kind. I don’t work for your side. I’m not good,” Zelda says and closes her eyes. So much light…

“Aren’t you though?” Malack smiles against her. “Somewhat good?” Zelda has no answer so none comes out. “All beings, His or no, offer something to the world. You, Zelda Spellman, are a conundrum. You’ve devoted your entire life to the Church or Night but I feel things stirring in you that even Lucifer couldn’t touch. Lilith is lucky.”

Zelda drifts then, an abyss of pulling light and dark. She feels warmth on her face, opens her eyes. Light filters in through the windows of her bedroom. She bolts upright, pawing at the silken nightgown on her body. A cold sweat covers her in a sheen.

She surveys the room, for beings of any kind. Faint residuals, but nothing outright. A memory slams, reminding. 

“What would you have called a daughter of your own?” The last question uttered by the angel to her last night, eyes closed against the onslaught of it all. 

_ Charlotte _ , spoken aloud. Deep yearnings unfulfilled. Zelda supposes that is what happens when sitting with angels in the middle of the night. Despite the witching hour, secrets get spilled.

****************************

She really shouldn’t be resorting to this, cheap theatrics and tricks. After all, Hell is neverendingly busy but after the goings-on at the school, it’s an absolute necessity to check on those meant to uphold the standards which were not only already in place on Earth, but elevated when she seized the throne.

It’s this, she reasons, that she decides to waltz into the world of slumber. While she’d like to kick down the door to where she needs to be, she decides that’s how the way of things would have been previously and she isn’t like her predecessor. She wants to be known for her brutality, true, but for her fairness in the deliverance of damnation. Thus far, Zelda Spellman has not earned the reproach of it.

Decidedly so, Lilith figures it couldn’t hurt to start out their soon to be mutually beneficial relationship on a good foot. While entering her dream isn’t perhaps the best way to go about a checkup, Lilith definitively knows that showing her face in Greendale will create a slew of problems right now. This will have to suffice until the time is right or until necessity demands her presence. 

Of course, it’s locked like any sane person would do. But mortals are usually careless and leave their minds suspended in sleep open for onslaught. Only the skilled and true deep thinkers put roadblocks in place to keep any old soul from waltzing in. One part feeling pride toward Zelda, the other feeling annoyance at what she’s about to do, she brings her hand to the door and delicately knocks.

She’s the Queen of Hell, for...her own sake. Standing in the hallway outside someone’s dream isn’t exactly the place one would expect to find her. And while she’s perfectly well and fine with a bit of cloak and dagger business, forgoing it with Zelda on the other side of the door seems the right path to take. 

She almost jumps back as the door is flung open in a hostile manner, a laced barb no doubt waiting on the tip of the occupant’s tongue, but Lilith watches it die in Zelda’s throat and her mouth goes slack, delicious lips parted in surprise. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Lilith tries to joke but then hears how contrite it sounds and drops all pretenses. “Who am I kidding? Bet I’m not who you expected to see knocking on the door to your dreams,” she says as amusement lilts her voice. 

“You came looking for me,” Zelda responds dryly, then seems to remember who she’s talking to. “My Queen, I wasn’t…”

“Let’s save time for explanations and apologies. May I come in?” She taps the blood-red nails of her fingers on the splintering wooden frame. She’ll ask about this another time, why Zelda’s inner sanctum is so worn and frayed. Who all has tried to break in?

“Of course, where are my manners?” Zelda beckons and Lilith breezes by, gliding along on the hitch of Zelda’s breath. 

Inside of her sleeping mind isn’t so different from Zelda’s projection of the real world. Lilith wants to ask why they’re meeting in the eldest Spellman’s bedroom but it’s another question she doesn’t have time for. This has to be quick, for a myriad of reasons. 

Lilith spins on a heel after inspecting the place and Zelda’s eyes are downcast to the floor. She’s so strong and obedient and it makes Lilith twitch with a whole lot of things she can’t begin to name. Maybe it’s the residual of being in the human world for so long. She’s let them stick to her for far too long and now she’s having trouble shaking the behavior. It’s this she has to shove away as she brings her fingers delicately under Zelda’s chin and stares into her eyes. 

“My High Priestess. You don’t ever have to cast your eyes down to me. We are of the same vein now, aren’t we?” 

“But Lucifer…”

“Don’t  _ ever _ speak that name to me,” Lilith hisses. “I’m not him. His foolish pride and arrogance are why he’s stranded in the circles of Hell inside Mr. Scratch’s body. He was blind to see that his flock had been maimed and were dying. I’ll not be compared to him in any regard.”

“No,” Zelda agrees but it’s only a whisper. 

“I’m not him,” Lilith answers back, in control this time. If hearts are capable of aching, then she begrudges something akin to it as she looks at Zelda. 

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Your Queen. Then am I to understand you are still devoted to the church?” she questions. A look floats across Zelda’s face and Lilith continues on to clarify. “There’s been quite a hubbub in Greendale with the new arrival.”

“Of course you know,” Zelda scolds herself, leaving Lilith to once again wonder which side the woman before her is truly on.

She won’t force Zelda to remain High Priestess against her wishes. She could demand it, sure, but that seems counteractive to what she really wants, which is Zelda at her side as an emissary. Lucifer would trap her into it, bind her in metaphorical shackles to get what he wanted. Lilith will take the higher road.

“I know that that  _ thing _ has been telling you exactly what we’ve been fighting against for countless millennia. And yet you follow it into the forest and practically beg it to show it’s mercy on you and your precious family.”

Zelda drops to her knees in front of Lilith and tears pour from her eyes. 

“I’ve been so torn since the angel’s arrival. Not because my soul questions my path, no. But because it has asked me to come to you at it’s behest. It asks me to question my Queen of the order of things and I am not yet of reputation to converse with you so intimately.”

“And just what exactly does it want?” Lilith asks as she feels the expelled breath of Zelda Spellman at her knees. She can stand it no longer, this utter cowing in her presence. Never again shall she be made to not see anything other than eye level with her ruler. “Come, Zelda.”

She lifts her from the slumber floor of her visions, rakes tears away and moves auburn locks gently from cheeks to lay on shoulders. It’s quiet, soft, intense in a way she’s learning she wants to be with her earthly counterpart. 

“For me to be a liaison between worlds. It has agreed to leave me in my service of you, but to report back with your intentions for the earth realm. It speaks of the False God’s concessions to you, of the offer to supply Hell with the souls of those damned from entering his kingdom. To determine if…”

Lilith realizes she’s lost herself in the intrigue of Zelda’s words when she hears them stop altogether. If the creature refuses to understand that Zelda is Lilith’s, that it has no claim on her…”

“You’re mine,” Lilith grounds out rather harshly but then hears the bile in her tone. “You’re mine” Repeated more tactfully this time, not necessarily hopeful but mindful that this could all go a completely different way. 

“Excuse me?” Zelda questions, the hint of the haughtiness she normally speaks in creeping into her voice. 

“It seems my name has been on quite a few Greendale tongues. I figured instead of singeing the earth with fire and brimstone to figure out what all the fuss has been, I’d come and ask the High Priestess of the fallen church of whatever the fuck your Blackwood was calling it. And to see if she was still devoted to serving Hell, regardless of who may now be sitting on its throne.”

“Why do you still appear in her form?” Zelda asks suddenly and it catches Lilith completely off guard. 

She finds herself mimicking words spoken not but seconds ago. “Excuse me?”

“Mary Wardwell,” Zelda takes a step forward, obliterating much space between their two bodies. They’re close, unspeakably so, and Lilith swears she can feel the heat of the pits even here. She’s warm all over, almost scorchingly, and Zelda pants out amid the height of it in the room. “Why do you continue to look like her?”

It should be an easy question, one not so disarming and embarrassing because shouldn’t she be in her own skin appearing here right now? Not some mortal who she has felt chagrin for most of her existence. So really, the question is-why Mary Wardwell? Lilith settles on something easier than the glaring truth.

“She’s served me well in the past. I’ve grown used to being seen like this.” It’s simple and not at all complicated like telling Zelda that this is how they first and last saw one another, that she’s sat on her throne and thought about this very moment for a long time. That she’s wondered the where and what and when of Zelda more than she’d ever like. 

“So where does Mary Wardwell end and Lilith begin then?” Zelda asks and her breath is hot and the question is well and good except Lilith knows if she stays here any longer, she’ll be in trouble in the worst kind of way. 

“Do I have your devotion?” Lilith tries, burning her gaze into Zelda’s eyes. 

“The Church of Night is all I’ve ever known,” Zelda admits. 

And hasn’t Lilith said something similar, about her service to Lucifer in front of this woman’s plucky niece? No more blind allegiance.

“It’s no secret that I want you as my right hand. But I want you there if you want to be, not because it’s a duty you’ve been fulfilling for hundreds of years. I want you as my High Priestess, leading those who follow me now,” Lilith says and she can’t control her hands, one of which reaches out to caress Zelda’s pale porcelain cheek.

“Your bidding is my honor,” Zelda sighs against the touch and Lilith tries not to feel everything again. 

She blinks herself away and stands outside the mines again. The woods around would be eerily silent to the mortals who inhabit the town but Lilith finds it the needed air that was missing from the dream realm and room of Spellman.

Miles away, Zelda bolts upright in her bed. Her bedclothes are rumpled and her breath erratic. She stands and goes to the window where the faint moonlight filters through the curtains. 

Both women stand and peer out into the woods. A tinge of loss swirls them both, the great unknown’s head rearing. Mysterious, a held breath. 

Lilith turns to the mines, back to her domain. Zelda remembers a whisper, the last things Lilith said to her in the slumber realm. 

_ Mary Wardwell is alive and well thanks to me. Let Sabrina have her teacher. Let me have you by my side as I rule.  _

Zelda had agreed, waking up seconds later. She wonders what the new world looks like, with angels and demons, gods and goddesses all getting along. It seems like a still that won’t last long. She shivers at the thought.


	5. The Irrevocable Shift

“Sabrina, honestly. Couldn’t you have just enacted a simple spell for the form? I don’t see why I had to leave the mortuary to sign a permission form for a formal, of all things,” Zelda snorts derisively as she lets the ink glide across the page. 

“It’s for the formal committee,” Sabrina answers. “Since it’s time consuming, the faculty wants permission to help out with events. I forgot about having you or Aunt Hilda sign it since there’s been a lot going on lately."

Her look goes far off and Zelda doesn’t have to ask why. She knows Sabrina’s thoughts are with Nicholas. 

It had taken a great deal of persuading and cajoling Sabrina to back down from her hair-brained idea of entering Hell to track down the object of her affection. Zelda supposes she can’t fault her niece for the plan, her own girlish indiscretions far from banal. And quite possibly recent ones too with Father Blackwood involved.

But it’s been months and fall has come around. They’ve managed to make it to November without so much as the lichen under their feet disturbed. It’s been oddly quiet except…

Zelda watches Sabrina, Roz, Harvey, and Theo make their way to the gym where all the preplanning must be occurring. Shaking her head and reaching into her purse to find the car keys, she rounds the corner and receives a jolt as someone slams into her, knocking her keys to the ground. 

Figuring it some snotty teenager, she almost lets out a growling reprimand when she silences herself with a huff as Mary Wardwell backpedals a little, adjusting the frames of her glasses on her face. 

“Mrs. Spellman, what a surprise. Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, all blue-eyed wonder and charm. 

Zelda feels her lip curl and throws her shoulders back dismissively. “You know children. Always forgetting something or another. I was summoned to sign a permission slip for an antiquated ritual of ludicrous importance. But mortals do enjoy such things.”

The smile wavers somewhat on Mary’s face as straightens upright from fetching Zelda’s dropped keys and she lets confusion wash like a wave. “Mortals?” 

Zelda falters and works to clear her throat, anxiously spinning her wheels on how to cover the mistake while reaching to retrieve the object from Mary. “Yes, you know. Those who…”

Mary holds a hand up, signaling Zelda to stop. “It’s okay, really. I’ve refrained from saying anything for the last few months due to my own life being somewhat chaotic and confusing but…” she sighs and then smiles again. “I’m very aware of the murmurings of Greendale. The history of this town is no secret and while I respect your family’s privacy, I will admit to knowing about your family tree.”

“Which is what?” Zelda tuts defensively. 

Mary holds up her hands again in a conciliatory gesture this time, a way of saying  _ slow down _ . Zelda feels her metaphorical feathers smoothing somewhat as the woman in front of her continues on.”

“Greendale was built on the foundation of secrecy and safety. Despite our own dark history in the 1690s, Greendale has become a refuge for those seeking escape from the bigger world. You’ve made your home here for many years. Let’s not get into the who’s and what’s,” Mary tries. “Instead, I’d like to extend an olive branch of sorts. After our last exchange at Meet the Teacher, I felt so awful. I’d like to make up for it by having you over for dinner one night. And your sister too, if you’d like. To get to know one another. To make sure Sabrina is following the right path.”

The part about Hilda seems tacked on for formality sake and Zelda feels her hackles rise again at the mention of Sabrina following the right path. 

_ She’s chosen the Church of Night! _ Zelda wants to yell.  _ Just like you made sure she did.  _

Although the woman eyeing her carefully didn’t. Mary Wardwell’s soul was in some untouchable place, wandering in a foggy haze of mist. Lilith had had her fun commanding Mary’s body and making the whole lot of them wonder why the quiet school mouse of a teacher had suddenly taken such a grandiose interest in Sabrina. 

It’s hard yet to separate the two as Zelda reminds herself that Lilith is circles deep below the mines, her own kingdom to rule. Before her is the version of the woman from a while ago, the one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The one who happened to be possessed for too long by the Mother of Demons and future ruler of Hell. 

“My sister and I are both swamped lately at the mortuary, so I regretfully must decline her invitation. She is aiding my nephew in all of the arrangements as of late. As for myself, I suppose I could spare a few hours to establish a bit of goodwill between our family and you. After all, we want what’s best for Sabrina, as it seems you do as well,” Zelda agrees.

“How lovely,” Mary smiles. “What about at the end of the week? I’m sure it will provide a nice end to the work requirements we normally carry all day. Is my house on Friday night alright, say 8:30?” 

Zelda nods tightly, making a mental note of the event. She knows the polite thing to do would be to ask if she needs to bring anything, but Mary Wardwell doesn’t know it’s even more polite if she doesn’t. There’s a reason Hilda does all the cooking and it suits Zelda just fine.

“Alright then,” Mary sighs and her smile goes even wider. “It’s a date.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Zelda winces a bit and Mary’s eyes spread in a panic. Her hands wave in tight little motions frantically and she stammers a bit. 

“That’s not what I meant. What I meant to say is…”

“It’s not a date. It’s obviously not a date,” Ms. Malack interrupts to clarify as she sends them both a mischievous look, her presence so minimal on announcement as to startle the conversing duo. “Not in that  _ sense _ anyway. Isn’t that right, Principal Wardwell?”

She wraps an arm around Mary’s shoulder and pats lightly, looking at Zelda for any response. She’d thought angels to be merciful creatures but this one is proving her wrong on all fronts. Clearly, she fits in more with imps if the look on her face is any indication.

“Why, yes, Ms. Malack. Ms. Spellman and I were just discussing maybe joining one another for dinner. It’s odd that we’ve both lived in Greendale for ages, yet have never interacted outside of an acquaintance level,” Mary nods. 

Zelda can’t help but roll her eyes and Malack watches her intently. Waiting for a trip up, a misstep, a stumble. Anything she can laud over Zelda’s head since Zelda has failed to arrange a meeting between the two of them since Lilith entered her dream. 

_ Not like she could know. _

Zelda cocks her head to the side as Malack’s eyes turn golden and she starts to call her out on the fact but then Mary nods curtly and takes her leave as a bell trills overhead. 

“Ah, I’d better get going. As should you, Ms. Malack. Our pupils won’t teach themselves. Ms. Spellman, see you soon,” she gently lays a hand on Zelda and then carries on down the hall.

Malack throws Zelda a look who scoffs in turn. 

“Don’t be patronizing,” she scolds and turns the way from which she entered. Malack falls into step behind her and Zelda startles. “Don’t you have a class or something?”

“You must be really distracting,” Malack smiles with a grin that can only be described, as the mortals say, shit eating. “Principal Wardwell forgot it’s my conference period so I’m free for forty-seven glorious minutes.”

Zelda groans and continues walking as Malack once again follows along. 

“Oh, lucky me then,” Zelda responds with sarcasm.

“We need to catch up anyway. Concerning your Goddess and the little talk I asked you to have with her,” Malack presses.

“I haven’t had the time lately, what with the mortuary duties and all,” Zelda feigns indifference. 

“You’re a terrible liar. So what did she say?” Zelda makes an offended face but can’t muster going too far into it because she  _ is _ lying. “Your eyes flutter a little when you aren’t telling the truth. It’s your tell. Plus, I’m an angel. I kind of have experience with people trying to placate me with what they think I want to hear.”

Zelda pulls her into a corner and glances around to make sure no one is looking. Of course, everyone is so self-involved these days, so the two of them barely make a blip on anyone’s radar, even the “talk of the town.” New wears off fast with teenagers. 

“I’m not trying to placate you. I’m trying to avoid you and this conversation, as if that wasn’t painfully obvious from me not speaking to you in weeks,” Zelda answers simply. 

She leans against a nearby locker and stares at the ceiling. It’s toward the end of school and with the days shorter now that the time has changed, the afternoon sun looks weak and closer to twilight. 

Normally the season brings a sense of calm with it but Zelda feels restless, unhinged. The sense of something looming hasn’t eased and if anything, seems more intense despite having conversed with Lilith. 

“Your Goddess. What does she say of the things my Lord asks?” Malack tries again.

“Is this really what you’re wanting to do with your time? Waste it by pretending to be human and annoying me beyond exasperation?” Zelda glances around again, her nerves sliced to a hard edge. When she sees Malack standing stoically, she finally acquiesces. “The balance between the kingdoms remains intact for now. Beyond that, I can’t offer much. If Lilith has a plan for this world, it wasn’t stated. But rest assured, she has-just one I lack privy to at the moment. Her concerns lie with the underworld presently.”

If Malack is satisfied with the answer, she doesn’t let on. Nor does she dispute the words Zelda has uttered. Her look is distant, beyond where Zelda can go and touch. Seeming to sense the lack of sound, Malack snaps from her reverie with a labored sigh. 

“Then we are both in a holding pattern,” Malack says and then watches as Mary Wardwell exits her office and goes the way of the formal planning in the gym. A small smile creeps across her face and she turns to Zelda. “Stay busy, which shouldn’t be hard for you. We’ll catch up soon.”

Her eyebrows quirk and she leaves toward the direction of her classroom. 

Zelda would like to ask precisely what she means by her statement but as she stares at Mary Wardwell in the distance, she figures she knows. A sense of foreboding slithers through her. She wishes she could see the future. It will come soon enough though. 


	6. Sliding into the Unknown

Two days have passed and she’s been thoroughly worthless. The minutes and hours are filled with unsatisfying cigarettes, sharply thrown barbs, and a tight grip on her hammer which is just itching for Hilda to step out of line so she can take some of the bubbling and boiling pent up energy out of her body.

Even Vinegar Tom understands to stay away and sticks close to his dog bed and out of Zelda’s twitchy and nervous arms. 

Stealing a quick look at the clock again, she chides herself for acting like a schoolgirl. It’s yet five hours until her expected arrival at Mary Wardwell’s home, but she can’t seem to stop pacing, can’t seem to find one singular thing to calm her racehorse of a brain. 

Sabrina and Roz chatter at the table about that dreadful formal coming up. Theo is missing from the discussion because, as Sabrina has informed her, basketball season has taken hold of Baxter High and his presence is needed elsewhere. 

Dismissing herself from the youthful chatter and excitement, she ascends the stairs slowly. Her thoughts are disjointed, fractured in a way she’s rarely felt. In times such as these, she normally resorts to steaming hot water and quiet, but her delicate toes peek out from the water as she shifts, jittery. 

Letting out a huff, she drains the water, hot still. Exiting the tub, she catches sight of herself in the elongated mirror perched to the side of the towel rack. She stands, devoid of anything to hide or cover her. 

Idly, she lets her hands roam over the curves, traces the small but noticeable lines creeping over her skin. While they all age slower, she’s not impervious to the trials of time. While she doesn’t miss the youth that Sabrina is experiencing, she does long for the days when she could stand in front of the looking glass and feel confident instead of exposed.

How long has it been since she was wanted, carnally, emotionally? She’s been alive for over a century and she can’t even answer the question herself. Faustus was reckless, emboldened. It felt right in its wrongness and Zelda admits being drawn to his status and power. 

The past though is scattered with other samplings of connectivity but none on the level of what the mortals seek, nothing close to the neverending love and devotion that is one’s goal. Even before Sabrina, she’d devoted her life to the Church of Night and learning about how best to serve the Dark Lord. Her heart had never had enough room for anyone else. 

Until now.

With the Dark Lord trapped and Lilith serving as ruler of Hell, Zelda has been left to muck through establishing foundations to a new way of thinking, a new life for the Coven with her at the helm since Faustus’ disappearance. 

Everything seems wide open and full of possibility, dangling precariously though between ascension or downfall. Can she lead the Coven in the quest for a life after Lucifer? 

Her skin begins to prickle with cool and she crosses her arms over her chest, begins to dress. She spends entirely too much time on her outfit, an exorbitant amount of time on her hair. When she walks into the kitchen to grab her purse at half-past seven, Ambrose raises his head from the table. 

Thankfully, Hilda is missing somewhere within the recesses of their home and Zelda has never been more grateful to dodge a litany of questions like she withstood the last time she was asked to dine in another’s home. 

At least with Faustus, there had been causation for the invitation. Zelda even knows that the pretenses of this meal are slim, so sharing that she is dining with Sabrina’s teacher who barely a word had passed between them before Lilith overtook her seems ill-advised.

Before Ambrose has a chance to speak, she nudges in front of his words. “I’ll be home later. Just some business to attend to. Tell Sabrina and Hilda for me, will you?”

She makes it out of the door with little other than a small smile from Ambrose and his best regards to her “business associates.”

The forest is dark, fog curling around tree trunks and limbs to create wispy ghosts in the faint waning moonlight. Mary Wardwell’s abode lies tucked off the beaten path so to speak and Zelda marvels in the fact she didn’t have to ask for directions despite not knowing a single thing about her dinner companion. Another byproduct of Greendale living, no doubt.

She stands outside Mary’s door, frozen by some unseen force that seems to dictate her life all of the time now. Or at least since the Church of the Night crumbled to nothing. 

Zelda shakes her limbs in a gesture meant to calm her jitters, but it does not seem to do the trick. A fact only amplified as the door opens and reveals Mary Wardwell. 

Her glasses are on again, but her hair is pulled back loosely. Silver and black dangle earrings hang from her flesh and her eyes are alight, enhanced by the turquoise-teal of her sweater. Glancing down, Zelda tries to leave the blood red of her lips behind to see the navy leather skirt she has chosen to complete the ensemble. Her feet are bare, however, and it creates a comfortable feel that is missing from Zelda’s own aesthetic.

“Ms. Spellman, I’m so glad that you could make it. Do come in,” Mary waves and steps away from the door. It takes Zelda a few moments to gather enough ease to enter her dwelling but she finally does. 

It’s nothing stellar, enough furnishings around to make it feel homey and a tidiness to it everywhere. From deeper in the house, a wonderful smell wafts to the living area and Zelda turns toward the crackling of the fire within the stone place.

She stands awkwardly at the door as Mary closes it behind her, unsure of what to do or say. As Mary crosses to the coffee table, Zelda removes her gloves and deposits them in her coat pocket which she gently lays on a nearby chair. 

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink perhaps? I apologize but I rarely have company over, so I may not be as well-stocked as one should,” Mary says holding up a decanter of whiskey. 

Zelda nods her approval of a drink and takes the proffered item from Mary’s hands. Mary returns the nod and both take an anticipatory sip. Zelda is used to the burn of alcohol, has had hundreds of years to get used to the way it slides down the throat. Mary, on the other hand, lets out a strangled little cough and cannot hide her discomfort with a quick hand to her mouth. 

Zelda can’t help but laugh and bloody hell, so does Mary. They both stand for a few seconds while she gains her composure.

“I’ll admit my experience with drink is somewhat limited,” Mary recovers.

“It’s quite alright. You’ve done a superb job of selecting a fine malt. Reminds me of a similar brewing I’ve tried in London before. Stratford to be precise,” Zelda remembers as she sips. Which is when she also remembers that it’s been over one hundred years since London saw a whiskey distillery. 

While it’s safe to say Mary probably has no idea of her misstep, much less whiskey in the first place, she chastises herself for the mistake. Even with the earlier alluding to the Spellman family history and all, what Zelda doesn’t confirm for Mary, the better. 

“So, how is Sabrina adjusting to the almost mid mark school year? I know you were a bit apprehensive about some of the changes,” Mary steers away from the previous conversation and sits her glass down by the decanter and tray. She motions Zelda further into her home as they make their way to a veritable feast laid out before their eyes. 

Zelda tries not to gasp at the works of art on the plate before her, the preparation agonizingly meticulous to the letter. A tinge of something shoots through her at the thought of Mary working tirelessly to put forth the meal in front of them.

Mary motions again, this time for Zelda to sit down across from her and pours a dark red liquid into the glass sitting to Zelda’s right. “More my speed,” she shrugs with a smile and it’s so damn hard not to be suspicious, to not wonder if Lilith is here, right now, having a bit of fun at Zelda’s expense.

“Sabrina’s well,” Zelda decides to distract from the rising uneasiness in her own blood. “It seems that I’m the only one with reservations about Baxter High.”

“Your family has been here for many years. I’ve noticed you didn’t attend though,” Mary tries, taking a sip of the wine and lifting a fork.

They’re back on shaky ground. Zelda is torn between outright lies and half-truths to speak. She’d do anything to protect her family, to make sure they were safe. With Lilith’s assurances that the woman in front of her is no longer a puppet and has been fully restored to her soul, Zelda gazes at Mary Wardwell in order to try and decide which route to go. 

What she sees makes her gamble a little.

“No,” Zelda admits and brings a hand to her cheek in mindless scratch. “Earlier in my childhood, we left Greendale for a time. My family called England home for a while, which is where my sister Hilda was reared for some time. We returned to Greendale later.”

She keeps it vague but also lets a little go. Despite her own unease at opening up, she admits to herself that things are different now and the world uncertain. While she’s never experienced love and doubts she will, friendship is also another foreign concept. Outside of her bonds with her family, she’s always kept everyone at bay, an arm's length away and nowhere near her heart.

Something about her, the way that she looks at Zelda, her gentle touch, her seeming genuine concern for Sabrina are more than a lot of mortals have given Zelda. She feels pulled to her, almost certain that this woman in front of her is good. 

“Wow, how lovely. I’ve only seen pictures of Europe. On a school teacher’s salary, one can not afford such luxuries,” she laughs lightly. “I don’t get out much, if you can’t tell.” 

She says this with a small flourish of her hands and Zelda instantly feels warmed by her congeniality. 

“Oh, there are many places throughout the continent that are beautiful. Ancient sites, ocean views, castles with history you can almost feel in the walls,” Zelda finds herself expanding, reminiscing. She stops when she glances over to meet Mary’s wistful look. Straightening her shoulders a little and taking another sip of wine, she settles herself a little. “You should try to go one day.”

“It’s a good dream. Maybe?” Mary offers with a hopeful swirl that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Instead, they hold a bit of sadness for the first time. “Greendale is home after all.”

“You are from here?” Zelda asks, oblivious to the timeline of this woman’s life. It’s almost embarrassing to not know of this place in the way she should, but she has rarely concerned herself with mortal life and chosen for her family to live on the outskirts, looking in.

“Yes. My family line goes back a few generations. They were primarily agriculturally based. My parents lived here,” she says with a small gesture around. “They passed many years ago though.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Zelda answers, aware of how death can make a soul still living feel. It’s one of the worst kinds of agony. 

The turn in conversation leads to a mostly quiet meal, a few pleasantries throw in to avoid excessive awkwardness. Somewhere along the way, Zelda finds herself gratefully full and losing her head a bit from drink. The more they refill their glasses, the edge to earlier seems to lift.

“I know it’s a cool night but the moon looks absolutely lovely. Why don’t we make our way to the porch for a while?” Mary suggests and the two leave the warm sanctuary of her home to go outdoors. 

“I love the wood at night. I’ve always thought it part of Greendale’s charm,” Zelda says and glances sideways when she feels Mary’s side graze her own as they both settle under the warmth of the blanket she has draped across their legs. “Much more quaint than what’s across the river.”

Mary laughs and looks out across the expanse of her property. Zelda can’t help but steal a glance again and she feels uncharacteristically light, the worries and troubles of the past two years untouchable in this moment.

“Sabrina is lucky to have you both, your sister and you. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. That can be useful, even in a place such as Greendale,” Mary tells her.

“I just want what’s best for her. Hilda too,” Zelda admits. 

A quiet goes between them and she feels Mary shift next to her, pulling the blanket slightly. Suddenly, Mary turns and is all a rush of words. 

“I don’t want to come across rude or prying, but I’ve wanted to ask, to know, for quite some time. And whatever you tell me or don’t, there’s no judgment. I swear to it. It’s just, you know, this town and the talk. I alluded to it at the school and felt downright awful after for not showing more tact. I was just curious,” she spills out and looks sheepish after. 

Zelda knows by that look alone that Lilith is far away and this person before her is asking to know what her Queen already does tenfold. She should get up, leave Mary Wardwell alone on her steps in a state of confusion. But either warmed from the material of the blanket, the warm alcohol swirling in her belly, or the body of the woman connecting with her in a pinprick of friction, Zelda remains in place. 

“I’m not sure of the talk, honestly,” Zelda shrugs and folds her hands in her lap. “But I do know my own story, my family’s, and what you said at the school was not far off of the mark.” She sniffs, feeling odd now that she’s let as much go as she has. 

This is a mortal, for Lilith’s sake. It’s not like they understand what witches have gone through for centuries, the persecution that they’ve felt and experienced. Salem was a blip on the map compared to hundreds of years of exile, being burned alive for their existence, living on the fringes of society. Zelda’s got her family, sure, but in this moment she feels unbearably alone and afloat with no one near except Mary Wardwell.

“So you’re a…” Mary trails off and looks thoughtfully at Zelda. There’s not a hint of disgust or danger in her face. The opposite in fact. It’s this that sends the whisper out of Zelda’s mouth.

“Yes.” It’s the first time she’s admitted this to someone so openly. It feels heady and weightless now, like it's spinning in the breeze of this chilly night under the stars and she doesn’t have the responsibility of a whole coven on her shoulders.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met one,” Mary says simply and this causes Zelda to laugh. When she cocks her head to the side, Zelda tries to ease her chuckles.

“I’m sure you have, you just didn’t know it. We try to assimilate as much as possible into the mortal world. After the trials and what happened with the Greendale Thirteen, we try to keep our heads down and lay low. It’s easier that way, for everyone involved,” Zelda explains.

“So if you’re a…”

“Witch. It’s okay to say,” Zelda soothes.

“Yes, a witch. That means you have seen many suns and moons pass,” Mary works out slowly.

“A lady never reveals her age,” Zelda frowns slightly. “But I will say I have seen _at least_ a century come and go.”

Beside her, Mary gasps slightly and Zelda wonders if this is all starting to sink in. Has this woman finally reached the point where she wants to know no more? Has Zelda told her too much, exposed her family and the coven beyond safe borders?

She suddenly feels weary with age, even though by witch’s standards, she’s but middle-aged. So much life she’s lived and yet, has she really lived at all? Her whole life devoted to the Dark Lord, to her family. Chunks and pieces of herself given to everyone else and not herself. 

“That also means that you know spells, magic,” Mary says again, this time much quieter. Is it possible that she’s come even closer to Zelda’s form? It seems foolish, but no, Zelda can feel her arm resting solidly behind her back on the porch. “Can you show me one?”

Now it’s Zelda’s turn to gasp and what in good sense is she doing because she feels herself scooting closer as well, removing her hands from her lap and taking Mary’s in her own. She takes a moment to note their strength, yet delicacy, the smoothness of them as she travels the length of her long fingers to their tips. Mary’s breath hitches and that’s when Zelda realizes she hasn’t brought air into her own lungs in a while.

“This might feel odd, but it won’t hurt you. It’s just a simple casting,” Zelda soothes before she speaks the incantations. Her hands are holding Mary’s wrists which twitch as Mary yelps in surprise. Her eyes are wild as she looks from her wrists to Zelda’s eyes. “It’s a binding spell. Nothing big, but magic still.”

“Oh,” Mary pants and looks down at her wrists together, unmoving, palms up like in a prayer. Zelda runs her thumb across Mary’s wrists and murmurs another spell to calm the wild beat of Mary’s heart that she can practically hear ringing in her ears. “Zelda…”

With a few more words, Zelda releases the effect of the binding spell as Mary’s wrists go slack. She throws her a grin and tries to move her hands away, but they are quickly stilled. Mary is looking at her with a sense of wonder, an awe that is punishing almost. She can hardly stand it, the way Mary looks in the moonlight and the energy pulsing around them. It’s too much. Much too much.

“I’d better go…” Zelda makes to move again but its all she gets to say, as Mary’s lips settle against her own. 

Just as quickly as they connect, it seems they’re moving away and Zelda is left hanging in the open air with her eyes squeezed shut and feeling absolutely all-fullness and emptiness at the same time. Like a vessel that has known fleeting moments of being full but that longs to be replenished again, an aching for it so deep that it is almost untouchable. 

Of all that she has done in her days, this is perhaps the most dangerous: this porch and this night and this woman. There’s so much that can happen and that inevitably will happen. Mary Wardwell doesn’t need to be a part of her world. She needs to stay within her mortal realm and as oblivious as she has been for all of her life.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never done anything like that,” Mary apologizes quickly, but then its Zelda who is kissing away the words, smothering the sentences with her lips. 

Zelda is stuck between two worlds of the afterlife, two worlds of actual life. For a thousand reasons, she shouldn’t be doing this. Her body loses itself in the kiss though because this isn’t Faustus and it isn’t Lilith controlling a ghost in a shell. Mary is before her and real and good and Zelda suddenly wants to take and take and take a bit of that for herself. 

If Mary Wardwell objects, she never lets on. She sits with Zelda in the cold moonlight and lets her lips glide easily across the witches.

In the woods beyond, eyes watch, burning.


	7. The Grounding

It’s been some time since she’s walked the Earth, Hell proving to be just as much of a chore as she was up for. Her power has grown, she’s become stronger, and not a soul in Hell denies that fact. While there is plenty to keep her busied below the ground, she finds her thoughts above. With her High Priestess. With her coven.

Lillith runs a hand along the banister of the Spellman residence, feels the magical energy pulsing throughout the house in the form of wards and protection spells. For anything else, they’d prove a challenge. For the Queen of the underworld, they’re merely like batting away a buzzing fly.

She dedicates time in all of the Spellman women’s rooms, searching through the scraps and pieces of their life. Hilda, sweet Hilda, so torn between duty and possibility. She may have attended a Christian baptism but Lillith knows that even though she may waver in her belief in the church, she absolutely is unwavering with her family. Where they go, she does. It’s, for this reason, Sabrina, Ambrose, and Zelda are so important.

She knows she has little to worry about as far as Ambrose is concerned, so happy to be back among the witch and warlock community, his true intentions are far from clouded.

Sabrina, while willful and wild, is proving to be more of a good member of the flock than the woman’s room she’s currently perusing. 

Lifting a frame on Zelda’s nightstand, she stares at the visage of Edward and Dianna Spellman. While foolish, Edward was a visionary, and she begrudgingly will admit that his ideas for the Church weren’t so far off base in theory as they have been in practice. The new doctrine which they abide, influenced by his teachings and Zelda’s own touch, has become the way of life for the coven. 

Lillith feels the static energy left behind by the Spellman matriarch, feels her much stronger presence within the confines of their home. Setting the frame down, she blinks to where she feels her most, in the bowels of the dwelling.

She’d felt the familiar curl of satisfaction as she’d realized that Zelda Spellman was alone. What fractures that emotion thoroughly is the look spread across her features. It’s elsewhere, roaming, lost in a daydream. Her lips are curled into a smile as her glasses reflect the curdling blood and guts of the body splayed open in front of her. She holds a bone saw but it remains silent. 

Lillith growls lowly and reveals herself finally, causing Zelda to jump and drop the tool from her hands, a string of curses following the clatter.

“Honestly, could you be any more juvenile? How long have you been standing there?” Zelda asks exasperated but then settles when she takes a look in Lillith’s direction. Lillith can practically hear her heart beating out of her chest.

“Now, Zelda, my High Priestess,” Lillith coos. She comes closer and she’d have to be blind and numb not to notice the sharp intake of breath the woman underneath her palms lets out. She backs her up against the rolling tray, a few objects casualties of the action. 

“My Queen, what are you…”

“That’s right, I am your Queen, aren’t I?” Lillith puts her arms around Zelda’s waist and pulls her flush against her body. That intake of breath from earlier has turned into labored panting on Zelda’s part. As much as she’s trying to lean away, Lillith can feel exactly what Zelda is trying so desperately to keep hidden.

“Yes, Queen,” she answers rotely. 

“I’ve always been fond of you, even from afar. I know my presence was often cause for the response of chagrin, but I was only doing what was asked of me then. Will you eventually deny me, as I have come to deny my own ruler?” Lillith inquires. She runs her nose along Zelda’s, eats her expelled air like it is her own livelihood. 

“I will do as my Queen commands me,” Zelda responds immediately, her voice thready and full of hunger.

Lillith wasn’t born yesterday and she ascended for precisely this reason. “Sweet Zelda. Are you blushing?”

“I apologize for my behavior. It’s been some time since I’ve…”

Lillith doesn’t let her finish because she doesn’t have to. Zelda is as easy to read as the unholiest of texts. A diabolical grin spreads across her face as she traces the slope of Zelda’s nose again and brings two fingers to rest against Zelda’s lips to kill the words on her tongue. Removing them, she watches as Zelda follows them blindly since her eyes have slipped close. Leaning in, she lets her lips get millimeters from Zelda’s. 

Oh my, the life force thrumming between them. It’s electric and sinful in the best possible way. 

Lillith shifts away to a perch against the sidewall and leaves a stumbling Zelda to grasp for purchase on the table in front of her. Her hands widely flail and land on the poor sap spread open on the table, blood coating her hands. She makes to wipe them and seems to realize better, bringing her surprised face in Lillith’s direction.

“It would appear you’re a bit distracted,” Lillith teases but she can hear the malice creeping in. She’s trying, truly, to not be  _ him _ , but as she remembers the feel of Zelda against her, a territorial urge surges through her. 

Zelda says nothing in her defense, no rebuttal leaving her lips. It’s just as Lillith has ascertained and that barrages her with things she can’t even begin to quell.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman whose look I’ve kept, now would it?” Lillith tries again as she pushes off the wall and saunters back toward Zelda. 

“Nothing's happened, I swear it,” Zelda pleads and holds her hand up trying to keep her from getting too close again. 

“So little old Mary Wardwell has piqued your interest, as you have mine due to all of this. Tell me what has occurred,” Lillith demands. She flinches a little at her tone and reminds herself to  _ back off some  _ because this is how Lucifer would have come at his subjects. 

“A simple kiss, nothing more,” Zelda says forlornly and hides her sight in the ground. Lillith moves in again, places her head to rest against Zelda’s. 

“Tell me what she does to you,” Lillith requests. “What do you feel when you look at me like this, like her?”

“Too much, my Queen. Inappropriate things. Sinful things. I shouldn’t be so weak. She’s a mortal,” Zelda whispers as Lillith brings her lips to graze along her cheek.

“She feels good, doesn’t she? Like you could get lost in the essence of her.” Lillith moves Zelda’s hair to the side to expose her neck, leaves a trail of hot breath all along it. 

“Yes, my Queen.”

“You’d let me do anything to you, with me looking like this. Wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes,” hits the air again and Lillith tries not to wind her fists throughout Zelda’s hair as Zelda lunges forward and kisses her. 

Lillith is shocked at first but then finds herself returning it, running her hands roughly down Zelda’s back and dueling for the lead. This is madness, utter and complete, but Zelda is so  _ fervent  _ and Lillith knows this is what devotion feels like. 

She backs Zelda into the wall, lifts her leg and grips the creamy skin of her thigh exposed through the slit in the woman’s skirt.  _ Stop _ bleats in her head repeatedly, unending, but she keeps making stupid moves. She continues to press on. She takes Zelda’s lip in her teeth and pulls, canine and bent. 

“Lillith…”

Her name panted on the air shatters the spell of lust. Lillith yanks away from the warmth of Zelda’s body, leaving Zelda to press her own fingers against her raw lips. 

“You said I was yours. The night you came to me in my dream. I’m not some object,” Zelda reiterates, breath ragged. 

“No,” Lillith concedes, her own erratic and out of sorts. “So what if I leave you to decide for yourself?”

Here, in this realm, she could be tried for being certifiably nuts. In her own, the demons and other wayward creatures are probably moaning enough to shake the underworld. She isn’t the kind of lord that the  _ thing _ serves, but she isn’t her predecessor either. 

“You’re giving me a choice,” Zelda says in disbelief. “Free will, even though I’ve pledged my soul to the Dark Lord.”

“Who is presently walking on fire and brimstone, fuming at the fact he cannot claw his way out of a very powerful warlock,” Lillith rolls her eyes. “As I’ve said, I’m not him. This is oddly Christlike of me, I know.” She adds in a sneer for extra effect. 

Zelda is on her again, kissing her with a chasteness that didn’t exist before. She backs away and narrows her eyes. “You taste different.”

Lillith tries not to be offended so she squares her shoulders instead and raises an eyebrow. “Not like we’re cut from the same cloth, my dear.”

“When I put my lips on yours, it’s as if I can feel your omnipotence coursing into me. It’s heavier, more to hold up against,” Zelda says as she shakes her head. “What do you want from me?”

It comes out more helpless than Lillith would like of her High Priestess. While not mortal, Zelda is still too closely like the beings who ravage this world. Lillith supposes they are good enough to fill her pits, however, so she can look past whatever is going on with Zelda Spellman. 

“I’m not asking you to choose between us,” Lillith states. 

“You’re asking me to back away? How can I possibly…”

“I’m asking you to consider the thought. I won’t force you, Zelda,” Lillith responds and hears the weirdness of her voice calling the woman by her first name. It’s intimate. So much so that it makes her question why she isn’t raining hellfire down on this dreadful plane of existence and taking what she wants: the soul standing right before her. 

“I need time,” Zelda says and bends over the gurney, hands gripping the steel tightly enough to turn her fingers even whiter. 

While it aches, Lilith nods in agreement and then walks forward, slipping out of the room’s space and coming to slam a fist into the doors of Hell at the mines. She lets a snarl out and the doors shake. Her words burn everywhere, destroy the drums of her ears. 

_ You have it then. _

She flings open the stone barriers and slam them closed with all the force of Hell behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo-boy, are we about to turn the heat level up a few thousand notches in the next few chapters! I was originally going to make this a two-part series, but I may just have it be one length fic.
> 
> Chapters will most likely be added to carry out the plot of this and Mary/Lilith/Zelda are headed for some rough (good) and tough (bad) times ahead. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment or hit "kudos." I'm trying to present a story that is somewhat probable in the CAOS universe, so any characterization missteps are mine. You all are an incredibly hard group to impress I feel, but it makes me try all that much harder to put forth something worth reading. I'm still nervous with each chapter I post, but hopefully, the ride will be worth it by the end.


	8. Giving the Unseen

The table in the dawn light is all aflutter. Ambrose has been tracking witch hunters with Prudence and Sabrina’s fall formal is tonight. Hilda has signed them up to chaperone and Zelda would rather do anything but. 

There’s been so much going on lately, she’s completely lost track of time. From Lilith’s ascension, the appearance of an angel in Greendale, and the new dynamic with Mary Wardwell, she admits she’s been caught in the whirlwind of it all. Sabrina has taken the back seat and Zelda rests her face in her palms, weary. The people she has fought her whole life to watch over...

“We’ll get you all done up now, love,” Hilda says excitedly. “Your Aunt Zelda there is quite the hairdresser when need be and I can get you all polished up to shine like a new penny. She comes up behind Sabrina and gives her a bear of a hug. The two of them sway back and forth with the movement and then Zelda feels attention turned to her.

“You’re coming tonight, right Auntie Z?” Sabrina says with a frown. “I know taking care of the Academy is a lot, plus the work you all put in for the mortuary. I feel bad piling more on you, but I really wanted you both there.”

“Aww, pet,” Hilda hugs again and Zelda almost has time to feel the warmth of the declaration. After all, not every teenager would want their family crashing the social event of the year. But then Sabrina speaks again and all of that goes out the window.

“Plus, no one else wanted to chaperone,” she shrugs and Zelda lets out a groan.

She stands from the table and deposits her bowl and cup in the sink letting out an irritated sigh. “I find it hard to believe that every other guardian was  _ busy _ tonight. We’re hardly the best choice. A couple of witches watching over a horde of mortal young adults. We’ll have to put up a slew of spells to keep them from rutting in the dark corners. Honestly, at who’s behest have you signed up your poor aunt and me?”

“It’s because you’re witches that make you the best choice! And Ms., uh, Principal Wardwell suggested I ask the both of you,” Sabrina says.

A loud clatter erupts in the room and it’s only when Zelda looks down that she realizes she’s dropped her cup. She clears her throat and turns around to face the room, all of whom watch her with expectant eyes. 

They don’t anticipate how her heart has skipped a beat at the name, how her mind has wandered back to the moments where her lips met Mary Wardwell’s, how she has craved that fleeting feeling ever since. 

She gives them the hard response she’s known for, the distaste that has so easily dripped from her mouth in the past. 

“I love that Mary Wardwell is not only telling me who will teach my niece but is now also planning my Friday night.” She huffs and turns back to the sink. Pouring soap, she creates suds and scalds her hands with the hot water, a grounding pain to keep her from floating away. 

“It would mean a lot to me and I bet it will turn out more fun than you think,” Sabrina says hopefully and Zelda tries not to snort. 

“You’ve got a busy day ahead of you. Go on now,” she waves with a dismissive hand. Any more talk of this and she will find any excuse to not attend. 

Glancing to the rotary phone on the wall, she has half a mind to ring Mary Wardwell and to supply her with a staunch uninvite for no reason other than she doesn’t want to go to this dreadful event. There is simply no way it could have anything to do with the fact that she hasn’t spoken to Mary since the night on her front porch. 

Zelda had walked home with a lightness in her chest and a smile on her face, the prickling traces of Mary still clinging to her skin. It had been the happiest she’d felt in ages-until Lillith showed up the next day in the basement. 

She’d wormed her way in the space between and made Zelda question every act she had done in the hours before. In two years, she’s come to know Lillith-the way she works and how she thinks. She’s skillful and cunning, a fox in the shadows, pouncing when need be. 

As a ruler, she’s been intimidating, but only because Zelda’s made her out to be that way. She’s not like the being before her, the one willing to crush others beneath his thumb just to watch them squirm. Lillith is ferocious but also, dare she think it, rational in the way she deals with the words.

Thinking of this makes her feel guilty. She feels more for Lilith than she ever felt for Lucifer, yet she’s done less to show her devotion. Yes, she’s spent countless hours on doctrine, on theology, on aligning the church in a way Lilith would approve and appreciate. 

Is this how the other side eventually comes to terms with their god? He shows his benevolence instead of malevolence and they assume his goodness, therefore forsake him at almost every turn? Zelda cringes at the thought, of only calling to Lilith when she needs her. There needs to be in-between times too.

But then another feeling rears its head, the one that reminds her that most don’t initiate more intimate relationships with those they worship either. She’d been drawn to Faustus because of history, because of his status in the church, because of his untouchability. 

Is that not what’s occurring with Lilith too? Can she tell that Zelda is drawn to her for all the wrong reasons? Because of the same damn thing-the history of the last two years, her elevation to greatness, her dangerous borders that Zelda should not test, at risk of no return?

But no, it hasn’t all been one-sided either. Zelda had felt her eagerness, the willingness to let go. She had tasted it in Lilith’s mouth, had brought it back into herself with her own tongue. What festers the events with Lilith are those uncategorical hours she has spent with Mary Wardwell. 

Originally, she’d been drawn to the woman because of the back and forth with Lilith over Sabrina. She’d battled, both without precise knowledge and then outright with who had curled themselves under Mary’s skin. 

Now it’s all tangled, lines once straight now muddled and inextricable from the others. She’s kissed both, tasted the difference of them each and found something dark within her own self liking parts of each. 

“What in the Heaven am I going to do,” Zelda mutters aloud, gratefully with no one in earshot. 

It’s a conundrum she wouldn’t wish upon anyone, even her worst enemy. Instantly, her thoughts go to Malack but she tries to stomp them away. 

For now, the angel and the rest of her life are in a holding pattern. She feels though, that is about to change very soon. She owes her Queen an answer. One she doesn’t have at present. 

***************************

The mortals always have gone overboard with celebrations of their False God’s son’s birth. The hallways of Baxter High have not escaped the mirth of the upcoming day either. 

Zelda sends out thanks to the world below that the Solstice is approaching, Yule being one of her favorite holidays of the year despite last year’s antics with the Yule Lads. Still two weeks out though, she also curses that this formal couldn’t have waited until after it and the New Year. 

Hilda busies herself with removing imagined lint and wrinkles and readjusting with such a fuss, that Zelda can make out the pained but begrudging look on Sabrina’s face. Zelda had spent her own time on making sure that Sabrina looked the picture of perfect, hair looking windswept and utterly breathtaking. 

Sabrina’s plum-colored dress runs the length of her slender body, pale silver-white burst designs making the fabric look like melting snowflakes. It’s a beautiful gown, really. And Sabrina seems to stand a little taller, smile a little brighter while wearing it. It causes a flicker within Zelda’s heart.

“Now, now. Let’s off to this event. After all, it’s been the only talk around the house for weeks on end. I’d like to see how Sabrina’s hard work has paid off in the decor,” Zelda shoos with a wave of her hands. 

Hilda sniffs away a few tears, the doting auntie proud of her niece. She knows her sister is thinking back to her own teenage years, of missed opportunities and chances past of trying to obtain a normal childhood. They’d descended from witches though, generation after generation of them to follow, and their lives had already been mapped out for them from the second they were born. 

Zelda doesn’t relish in the thought of a mortal childhood, but she doesn’t like the scars both Hilda and she have experienced as a result of their own. There is a lot of baggage there that Sabrina must never know, that Zelda hasn’t talked about in decades. Maybe if they can all enjoy tonight, for a few fleeting hours, they can see what life is supposed to be like for a high schooler.

They open the door to the gym and are catapulted into a glittering forest. Firs of all kinds are packed into the space-Douglas, Grand, Pacific Silver. Faux snow clings to each one and silver and white balloons hang from the ceiling like teardrops. White furs have been draped across the chair backs and the room glows with an ethereal light.

Hilda gasps beside her and Zelda finds herself shocked as well. It’s beautiful and she instantly feels exceptionally proud of her niece as well. Each person that enters behind them has the same reaction, in awe of the time-consuming meticulousness that went into transforming an old gym into a wonderland. With a wide smile, Hilda hugs Sabrina from behind and kisses her cheek. Zelda plays her usual part and shoves her along to the moving bodies in front of them on the dance floor, loud music pulsing throughout the room.

Hilda follows along with a smile and turns back, throwing Zelda a hand gesture that says  _ move about. _ Rather than be accused of hovering as she would like to do, she walks the dark corners, the bends and grooves of the place for any spot unsuspecting eyes might wander over, an enamored couple choosing to copulate instead.

Thankfully, the worst she finds is a few teenagers making out and she gives them a firm hand to the shoulder and stern look, which sends them wide-eyed and on their way. People mill about and she scans the room observantly, keeping her eyes on Sabrina at all times. With a nervous glance, she wonders about faculty involvement tonight. If so, she has not only one problem, but two.

After several passes around the area, she finds no signs of Malack or traces of her essence, thank the fires. How she managed to escape the duties this night requires is beyond Zelda but she takes the small mercy as a win, glad not to discuss heavier matters on Sabrina’s night.

In front of her, the dance floor is a writhing mass of bodies, something loud and pulsing that Zelda can’t even begin to recognize if she wanted is pushing into her ears. Music has changed so much since she’s been alive. What was once tasteful and artful has become a grinding, gyrating nonsense. From a young person’s standpoint, she can see the appeal. As boilers for pent up sexual energy, teens surely get quite the thrill by the closeness of their bodies during the motions.

To an experienced person such as herself, Zelda knows there’s more to intercourse than simple laws of attraction. While those prove valid too, sometimes there is just more to a coupling than meets the eye. It’s this thought she’s lost in when she feels someone beside her and jerks her attention sideways.

Mary Wardwell stands nearby, hair swept to her shoulders in a massive pile of curls. She is wearing a golden jacket and trouser combo that shimmers when the twinkle of the lights nearby hit it. Underneath, a lacy black blouse peeks through and a golden necklace lies on the expanse of skin that isn’t covered by the fabric. It takes Zelda a moment to adjust to the look, so used to seeing the women in her plethora of skirts.

She stands with her hands in her pockets, looking out the hordes of children. Her face contorts into a frown as she watches the twitching horde of bodies dip as the words sound something like_ drop_ _that ass to the floor. _Mary makes her own jerking motion now, eyes wide. When the lyrics hit _til’ sweat drop down my balls_, she positively loses it.

“What in God’s name? I never approved this,” she says in disbelief and leaves Zelda alone as she makes her way through the throng. 

Amusement surfaces as Zelda watches her move over to the speaker system and computer setup for the entertainment, hands moving to signal the DJ. Picking up a microphone, she taps it sending a loud screech across the gym. 

Zelda, along with the rest of the crowd, covers their ears at the sound and she sees Hilda across the room mouthing “what’s happening?” to which she can only offer a shrug.

“Hello, yes. Hi, everyone. While I do want us to have a grand time tonight, there will be no getting low to the point your asses are on the floor,” Mary speaks into the mic. Zelda can’t help but smirk as she watches the spectacle. “Or any other choice phrases. So let’s go back to good, clean, PG-rated content, shall we? Okay, then.” A collective groan erupts in the room and she fans down the boos. Just as she makes to leave, she thinks better of it and gets back on the mic. “And I’m regularly checking the punch bowl, so no funny business. Carry on.”

As she hands the DJ back his mic, he shakes his head and makes a face to which she only shrugs. Zelda follows her movements back to her side and Mary comes to a stop beside her once more. Surprised she has made the trek back unscathed, Zelda mentions this.

“I thought for sure you’d be beheaded,” Zelda huffs slightly. “Or at the very least, thrown from the room by a sea of young folk.”

“Oddly, they seem to not test me much. Whatever went on during the time I’m missing, they steer clear of me mostly,” Mary admits and Zelda feels a rush of guilt.

She absolutely should tell Mary the truth, what with what’s transpired between them. Her mind goes to the kiss they shared and she wishes it would be mentioned, but knows she positively cannot be the one to bring it up. Maybe the kiss meant nothing and she has lost her head in the passing days for no reason at all.

Sabrina, Roz, Harvey, and Theo all laugh on the dance floor as another tune fills the room. Happiness. Pure. So similar to what she thought she’d felt several weeks ago on that old wooden porch. She chances a glance to her side, to the profile of Mary as she stares forward. To the rosy shade of uncharacteristic pink on her lips.

_ Only uncharacteristic because I don’t know this woman at all _ , Zelda scolds herself silently. The truth of the matter settles the wildness dancing within her, darkens her mood to one of melancholy. 

She supposes that she has failed to hide her emotional facial journey because when she looks to the side again, Mary is looking at her with a silent question. Casting a quick glance in all directions, she grabs Zelda by the hand and leads her away from the dance floor, past the tables waiting for tired bodies.

Zelda wants to ask just what exactly does she think she is doing but the words never surface. Instead, they slip past the gym doors out into the hall. The metal closes with a grating noise and the noise minimizes to a dull thump. Zelda’s ears are ringing slightly as she mutters a quick healing spell to diminish the ring.

They both stand before the other, a silence passing heavily between them. Zelda, not one for awkwardness, moves to speak first but then Mary chimes in too. They both let out a nervous laugh and Zelda makes a motion, deferring to hear Mary first.

“It’s, uh, been several weeks since last we spoke. I was worried you wouldn’t show. Or appreciate my suggestion of having you serve as a chaperone,” Mary says timidly. She rubs the back of her neck and her eyes soften.

“I’d told Hilda I should ring you for presumptuously planning the start to my weekend. As you can see, I decided against that,” Zelda responds haughtily, but lacking the conviction really. 

Mary nods as if she understands, but Zelda can’t see how she really does because even she doesn’t. This is about more than being voluntold to be at an engagement. This is about that foggy night and the warm scratch of the blanket and the heat of Mary’s lips moving with Zelda’s own.

The memory sends a sinking feeling in the pit of Zelda’s stomach and she tries not to feel weak, like a mortal. If it was nothing, that night, then so be it. 

“We’re both terribly busy adults. Our time is parceled out in many directions. It was lucky that you caught me at a time of no obligation. I’ll admit, while chagrined at first, I’m pleased to be here and watch Sabrina enjoy the night,” Zelda decides on sharing. Because even though the heaviness, she is glad to see Sabrina having fun. Being normal, if such a thing exists. 

“You’re right,” Mary nods again but then stills. “But I’m not so busy as to not call.” The concession is quiet and Zelda knows this is going a perilous direction. 

“Principal Wardwell, really, we…”

“Ah, Principal. So we have gone back to the beginning,” Mary cuts off rather sadly. She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her hair wildly, turning to walk away from Zelda. Pinching the bridge of her nose for a few seconds, she stops and makes a wide gesture with her hand. 

“I don’t know how to do this, you know. I’m not a woman who has any inkling of how to take the lead or be confident. Before the...time,” she says exasperated. “Before it, I was incredibly lonely. There was a man but he was gone more than he was with me and even when we were together, I didn’t know how to  _ be _ with him.” 

Zelda brings a hand to her chest. “You mean you’re a…”

Mary stops pacing and her eyebrows knit together. “What? No. I mean, I’ve had a physical relationship with someone. But I’ve not pursued anyone ever. Even with Adam, he did the pursing and the calling upon me. He was incredibly intense and present when he was around and wholly distant when he wasn’t. Before him, there was really no one. I’ve never been in lo…” She stops and then glances up from scuffing her heels into the floor. She stands straight and throws her shoulders back. “I don’t know how to court you, Zelda Spellman. I don’t even know if that is something you would want.”

Zelda finds herself lacking any words whatsoever. She isn’t even able to land on a feeling as she’s subjected to a tsunami internally. Mary’s words strike her particularly deep because hasn’t she said something similar to Hilda, Sabrina? Her heart couldn’t reach the depth of Sabrina’s sorrow with Harvey because she had never cared for anyone like that. Even with Faustus, her heart hadn’t opened to him because she understood of his inaccessibility beyond status and power. Looking at Mary now, her heart constricts and she tells herself this is, unfortunately, the same. She’s drawn to Mary because of some version she knows of her due to Lilith. 

“I’ve been pursued by many throughout my life. Very few have managed to really catch me,” Zelda smiles. 

Mary watches her with those ice-blue eyes so intensely that it sends a shiver through Zelda’s body. 

“I don’t even know if you would want that of me. As a mortal. As a...woman.”

Zelda understands the way the mortal world operates. The usual expectations to the flow of life. Grow up, begin a conventional relationship, get married, have children. Zelda has done none of those things and dislikes being pigeonholed into a set of beliefs. She’s been around long enough to have had various types of lovers but the thought of Mary Wardwell actively wooing her is a delicious thought. 

She propels her body forward and lets her fingers curl around the lapels of the golden jacket on her body. Impulsively, she leans in closer and closer with each passing second. Mary’s breath hitches and Zelda tries very hard not to think of Lilith, of the way the material between her fingers looks like that worn on the night of the Mephisto Waltz by Lucifer Morningstar. 

_ That’s the past _ , she tries to tell herself and does what she’s been wanting to for weeks. 

They share their second kiss in the old, distressed halls of Baxter High. She’s just the way Zelda remembers, nothing at all like kissing Lilith because she’s gentle, unsure, yet thrumming with excited energy.

She softly pushes Mary into the cinder block wall behind them. Her fingers rest behind the woman’s body and she can feel the pulse of the music vibrating into the tips, feels a pulsation somewhere deeper.

It’s this that makes her realize she can’t escape what’s happening. 

She’d chastised Edward for his vehemence on being with Diana. Time and time again, she’s warned of the precarious nature of becoming involved with mortals and yet, all she can think of is how this feels incredibly powerful despite not heeding her own advice. It seems worthy of being something that she tries.

They kiss as if time is absent, as if the doors can’t be flung open any second by over 200 teenagers or any number of faculty/chaperones. Zelda loses her head a bit, forgets that she’s supposed to be elsewhere in the school rather than out in the hallway putting on a show for anyone who happens out the door. She gains purchase of rationale and backs away, stares in Mary’s eyes looking for some sort of sign that this isn’t crazy, that she hasn’t thoroughly lost her mind. What she finds there makes her speak her next words.

“I suspect you’ll figure everything out just fine as we go along,” Zelda whispers to her, looks at the angles and lines of her face. She’s nothing like the meek teacher that she has seen only in passing anymore. She’s a change, a shot to see what it feels like everyone else has sampled.

Mary laughs and leans into Zelda’s touch as her hand traces those paths she was following visually before. She stops its trek and holds on, locking eyes with Zelda. What she says suspends life itself.

“Spend the night with me, Zelda Spellman.” It comes out a statement but Zelda can hear the question in her tone. She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, can’t help that her hands are slipping around Mary’s waist to pull her even closer. 

Her answer is lost as she jumps back with a shock, a gaggle of moronic boys bursting through the door with rowdy hoots and hollering. A bunch of withered hags is one thing, but this is Sabrina’s mortal school and she absolutely doesn’t need to have a rumor swirling before they have a chance to figure out everything.

Mary gives her an apologetic look and grabs her hand quickly, offering a squeeze. Letting it go, she holds up a finger. “I’m not ignoring this, but we should probably follow our rabble-rousers there to make sure they either don’t get into any mischief or take it off campus.”

Zelda takes in some air and then nods in agreement. They follow the young men down the palely lit halls of Baxter High. There will be other nights. This one, it seems, belongs to the youth of Greendale.


	9. Conundrums and Ultimatums

Dr. Ceberus’s is busy for the early morning hour and Zelda can’t help but groan at Hilda’s insistence of taking the early shift. Spellman women were not made for dawn, better suited for the dark sky, the fogs and mists and uncertainty of the black of night. 

“You can’t smoke in here, Zelds” Hilda hisses as Zelda makes her way to the counter. She grabs the smoldering item and whisks it away. “And who smokes at 7:30 in the morning anyway?”

_ People who didn’t get laid last night _, she thinks but instead figures it easier to go her normal route of moodiness without explanation. 

“Who willingly agrees to dedicate their morning hours to serving mortals expressos and lattes? Honestly, Hilda, it’s pure lunacy,” she retorts and fiddles with a graphic novel by the register.

“And yet here you are, wanting your morning cup as well. I took the morning shift because Dr. C. Is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hilda explains.

“You mean he was out all night as a were-demon climbing into women’s beds,” Zelda says dryly.

“Oi, hey! That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about there. Would it kill you to be nice? Just for once?” she scolds.

“Probably,” comes out in a scoff next to Zelda and she reels at the attitude. When she sees who the voice belongs to, she worries. How had she not felt her presence? Malack eyes her warily and puts money down on the counter. “I’m in desperate need of a pick me up this morning, Hilda. The usual, please.”

“Straight away,” Hilda pats Malack’s shoulder and wanders off to get the requested beverage.

Something about the woman’s presence irritates Zelda, particularly so this morning, so she can’t hold in the snide remarks bubbling beneath the surface. Plastering on her best haughty smile, she turns to her left, leaning a hip against the counter.

“Hilda? Since when are you on a first-name basis with my sister? I also didn’t see your face at the winter formal on Friday either. One of which I was stuck watching over because apparently, the faculty of Baxter High are exempt.”

“So crazy that you mention that because we _ are _. Only administration is required to attend and I was rather preoccupied the night of.” Hilda sets down a steaming cup and fits a lid over the top. 

“There you go, love,” she smiles. Malack takes it and reaches to squeeze Hilda’s hand. 

“You’re a godsend,” Malack points and then turns to leave. Zelda follows, stupidly, behind. “See what I did there? Godsend. I’m witty and charming even when I’m tired.” She takes a sip of her drink and then opens the door of the bookstore. Letting it go, it almost hits Zelda in the face who exits moments behind rather ungracefully, tottering on her heels. She frowns and looks Zelda up and down. Irritation twists her features and she sighs heavily. “You’re still here.”

“I’m constantly baffled by your behavior,” Zelda growls.

“Why, because I’m an angel? I’m going to go out on a limb and say I’m slightly better than the last ones you interacted with.”

“They tried to fry several members of the coven,” Zelda huffs.

“Which your niece turned around and did to them. Best town ever,” Malack says sarcastically with a fist pump. When she sees the rage in Zelda, she rubs her face with her free hand and withers a bit on her bravado. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. They were out of line and Sabrina gave them what they deserved. That’s not how we are supposed to do things. And to answer your initial lines of inquiry, I come in here most mornings for a coffee before work-the one thing going right around here. And I wasn’t at Winter Formal because I had business to attend to.”

Zelda stops in front of her on the sidewalk just as she’s about to walk away. She cocks her head to the side, hopefully sending the message that she wants to know more. Point made, Malack’s earlier look of agitation starts to creep back.

“I told you to get me a meeting with your master,” she continues lowly. 

“First of all, she’s not my master. And it’s not that easy,” Zelda begins. 

“Well, then it better get easier. You all, mortals and witches alike, walk around oblivious as to what’s going on. Things are not good at all. These are dangerous times we are living in. Armageddon is averted one time and you all get complacent.” She shakes her head angrily and moves around Zelda, stalking forward.

Nervousness courses through Zelda’s body and she tries to steady her voice so as not to speak out the emotions she’s feeling.

“What’s going on? I have a right to know. I’m High Priestess after all,” she calls out, stopping Malack from walking toward the schoolhouse. Malack stalks back to her and gets rather close to her face. 

“How’s that working out for you exactly?”

She’s too close and Zelda wishes she had something in her repertoire that the woman couldn’t combat because she definitely wants to end the sass spilling from her mouth. A few pedestrians pass them on the walk and look curiously at the two of them, but walk off uninvolved, like always.

“It’s going well. The Coven has recovered from Father Blackwood’s treachery and are adjusting well to the new doctrine which we follow under Lilith’s guidance,” Zelda assures. “You needn't worry about my role.”

“See, if it were, you think the High Priestess of the Church of Lilith would know when the creatures of Hell are getting restless,” Malack reveals. “They were all itching for a war and didn’t get one, instead having to adjust to a new way of things. It appears Lilith has some dissension in the ranks.”

The change in tone of the topic seems to sour her on the idea of her sweetened drink so she throws it in a nearby receptacle and takes Zelda by the elbow. Wrapping her arm through, she pulls Zelda along. 

To a casual passerby, it might look as if the two are old friends. Two women close and well connected. Zelda feels the steady course of lightness wrap around her skin despite the angel’s agitated demeanor. 

A good bit of Greendale passes by them before Malack talks again. The morning light comes up in earnest now and casts yellow rays into her hair, turning it to a brown-red tint. Her eyes are back to the honeyed color Zelda had seen in the hallway of the school. 

“It’s where I was the other night. As a Power, I’m tasked with guarding this realm against demonic attacks. I’m sworn to protect again infiltrations and were the end of days to have occurred, I would have been at the front of the battle lines. That being said, I’ve been dealing with a lot of interference from Hell lately,” Malack reveals. 

“Why haven’t I heard this? What demons? Who are they attacking?” Zelda blurts out, shocked at her ignorance of the situation. Unlike Blackwood’s Judas Boys, she has only Hilda and another handful of witches to report back on matters involving threats to the Coven. This appears to be a kink in the line of information.

Malack squeezes her arm, involuntary or not, Zelda can’t decide. She feels a wave of calming energy push forth but as soon as it hits, it disappears. 

“I don’t have all of the answers, which is why I’ve been pushing you so roughly. All that I can tell you with certainty is that I've banished at least a dozen lesser demons in the past few weeks. That’s way more than normal. These kinds of numbers are nearly unheard of. I’ve been to the main gates at the mine. They’re getting out some other way.”

“This has been going on weeks and this is the first of it you tell me?” Zelda almost screams hysterically. She can’t believe it’s gotten this far without her knowing. Why had Lilith not said anything in the mortuary? A scary thought takes hold. _ Unless she doesn’t know. _

“Zelda,” Malacks says and untangles from her arm. The use of her first name topples her reserve a little but then the angel is holding both of her hands on the street in broad daylight and her entire life feels like a train wreck. “Your queen is new to us both. We don’t know what to expect or know how she will act. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this but let’s give her the benefit of the doubt here.”

She gives what’s meant to be a reassuring touch to Zelda but nothing on her face relays that emotion. Turning the direction of the school, Zelda stops her once more. 

“And if she doesn’t do what we expect?” Zelda croaks out and she hopes Lilith is nowhere near to hear her weak. 

“If she refuses to meet, to deal with this, I won’t be the only Heavenly power Greendale will be needing to be concerned about.”

With that, Zelda is left alone on the sidewalk. The sunlight feels too hot, too bright, but she feels as if she’s being swallowed by darkness. Her heart shifts in her chest, aching. The decisions are getting harder to make.

********************

Lilith stands at the entrance to the mines, the worn path leading to its entrance devoid of any life. The evening is cool but not uncomfortably so and she feels a sense of nostalgia fill her bones.

She’s been in this realm less and less lately, reserving her time for the world underneath. There’s so much she misses about this oddly polarizing place: the never ending supply of men to serve her appetite well, the way mortals try _ so _ hard to make their way through life despite their failures more often than not, the passion they’re all capable of, the surprise of them. 

Her thoughts wander to the souls that walk this plane. The exasperating but so weirdly alluring teenagers she warded over at the high school for her brief time, Sabrina who proved to be a constant challenge of willpower and patience. _Zelda_. 

She shivers at the thought of her High Priestess, of the minuscule minutes they’ve been together lately. Except for the morgue. She’d asked Zelda something beyond what she was capable of even understanding herself. She was dedicated to Lucifer, wanted to ascend to be his Queen, had submitted to him in the Fallen Place because of what she had seen in him. Was it love? She isn’t sure she knows the meaning.

Greed, envy, anger, pride, delicious lust. It’s beyond carnal. She loves the possession of it, the way it takes over a body, the way it destroys the mind to a singular pinpoint of focus. This is what she has claimed her entire life-until now. 

Zelda appears in the distance and Lillith rolls her shoulders, the energy of their meeting sending anticipation throughout. Granted the circumstances are different this time, not as enjoyable as the morgue. 

Lilith bores her sight into Zelda, the crisp white collar of her dress, the black fabric spreading out wonderfully over her body. The sleeves are short, showing her pale skin. It contrasts starkly with her blood red lipstick and nails. On her feet, combat boots that would look insanely out of place on anyone else other her. 

The look on her face is severe when she approaches Lilith. She keeps her distance a couple of feet away and Lilith watches with an eyebrow raised as she sighs heavily. 

“Sorry for summoning you here under these circumstances, but it seems we have a problem,” Zelda begins. 

Lilith feels anger immediately and balls her fists, rocks her neck from side to side. She rolls her eyes and throws Zelda a perturbed look. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the _ thing _, would it?” 

“She’s come to me with disturbing news. News which I felt couldn’t wait,” the High Priestess admits hurriedly. Lilith watches as Zelda turns her head slightly as if anticipating someone behind her. She feels Zelda’s thoughts, sending a stroke of madness through her. 

“So what is it that couldn’t wait, hmm? I don’t assume we can change this to a social call regarding the other day,” she tries, a poor attempt at a joke. While she may be keeping the form of a human, it’s been a while since she was even close to one so it falls a bit flat in the present company. 

“The angel has asked for a meeting with you. To discuss the influx of demonic activity lately.” 

Lilith glances up from examining her nail, a look that could chill any still waters pervading on her face. The anger feels as if it’s elevating throughout her body and her blood is piping hot. Granted, Hell has been a bit different since she took over the place-gone to the ways of the Earth when she walked it. The fire and brimstone exist, of course, but Hell is more than the mortals make it out to be. It’s despair, loss, ache, agony. Parts of it are so dark, no hope shines through while others would singe the retinas of a regular soul’s eyes. 

“Demons have been roaming the earth for thousands of years. Morningstar’s Princes roamed freely here, bringing their own versions of chaos,” Lilith says as she saunters toward Zelda. “I even walked this place not so long ago, the mother of all demons. So explain to me why I should be concerned about this more than usual.”

She’s within inches of her now, her right shoulder touching Zelda’s. The woman looks at her with pained eyes and Lilith can almost tangibly touch the sheared conscious of Zelda Spellman. 

Not wavering allegiance, no. The fright of something bigger than them both, coming with fury and light. She touches Zelda’s arm and sees the future, of what it will be. 

When she opens her eyes again and looks directly behind Zelda, she sees it. The wings are spread wide, confidence and purpose commanding their every movement. Beside it, a weapon of pure light gleams in the gray afternoon. Lilith’s teeth show as she curls back her lips in a sneer. 

“So you brought it to me,” Lilith says with acid dripping from her words. 

“She did no such a thing. I mean you no harm, Lilith, Queen of Hell and Mother of Demons, but I did follow Zelda here so that we could meet face to face,” Malack says. 

It was bound to occur anyway, but Lilith groans that it couldn’t have waited a little while longer. She releases her hand from Zelda’s body and walks forward. Behind her, careful eyes watch. She can feel them on her with every step forward. 

She smiles at the thing, examines her nails with a flourish. “So it looks like we’re pushing up the time table on our little meeting. Tell me, angel, why have you come armed when I hold no weapon,” Lilith queries.

“You’re always armed,” Malack responds, knowing better.

Lilith shrugs and then puts a hand on her hip. The angel says nothing, instead focusing with her golden eyes. “If you’re here about the demons that have crossed into this realm without my permission, I’m aware. It’s being handled internally.” She dismisses her casually.

“Thirteen demons, Lilith,” Malack yells. 

This stops Lilith from walking away. “Excuse me?” 

“You may be used to a stray here and there, but we are talking rebellion here,” Malack growls. 

In a split second, she’s flown across the clearing of the mines and has her hand curling around the angel’s throat. She lifts her off the ground, dragging her up the bark of a once distant tree. Her feet kick wildly in the air and Lilith bats down every attempt she makes to grab her weapon by her side. 

Behind her, she hears a scream. _ Stop it _is repeated with great force but she ignores the pleas. 

“You presume to come here and tell me my own kingdom is mutinying?” Lilith hisses, her nails digging into the Heavenly flesh. Blood oozes down the expanse of her neck and Lilith seethes. White bright and cold misery filters into her hands everywhere her fingers touch. 

“I presume to tell you that unless you want to end up like Lucifer Morningstar, you end this madness now,” the angel chokes, her own hands grasping Lilith’s in a clawing gesture, her feet dangling precariously. 

At his name, Lilith drops the angel to the ground and casts a look nearby to Zelda who stares on in horror. The angel inhales deep breaths and holds its neck with a contorted look on her features. _ Pain _, Lilith recognizes. 

Zelda brushes past her and kneels, taking in the scraped lines of blood. She turns to Lilith with angry eyes and it dampens Lilith’s rage. She rolls her shoulders again and grunts in derision, begrudgingly thinking of switching tactics for...sake. Whose, she does not know. 

The eldest Spellman reaches out to touch the wounds but the angel gently pushes her hands away and shakes her head. In a couple of moments, she’s muttered a prayer with her eyes closed. Standing up and wings extending out again, Lilith watches as the torn flesh begins to slowly heal. The blood inches backward at a snail's pace but retreats nonetheless. 

“I don’t know what’s causing this. Or who. And judging by your reaction, neither do you. So that’s why, for the first time in history, I’m proposing we work together,” Malack sighs. 

Lilith can see her pride is ripped pretty well, but she stands tall. Zelda stands from her kneeling position and silently speaks to the angel, an _ okay _, before coming back to Lilith’s side. Whatever she thinks of Zelda’s return, it goes unspoken. 

“The next time a demon crosses over and you come into contact with it, leave banishment out of the equation. Take it to the hanging tree of the Thirteen and we will determine where our little problem is,” Lilith states.

“I need your High Priestess then,” the angel replies, her eyes traveling to the right. Lilith hears an intake of air and absently wraps her fingers around Zelda’s hand. 

“As do I.”

“I’m not getting into a territorial match. If I’m to stay and investigate while you do so in the underworld, I’ll need her aid. It’s too much for me alone.”

“So get your God to send more. Easily solved,” Lilith combats. 

“Until I can deliver specifics, I’m alone. My kind are scattered across this earth. My assignment lies here.”

Lilith fights with the information for a few moments. Next to her, Zelda remains passive of tongue but not in thought. Last they spoke, she’d given Zelda a choice. Wanting to live by her promise, she extends another. 

“As you are the High Priestess of the Church of Lilith, I will let you decide. You can come to the depths and rule while I take care of this matter or remain here and uncover the truth of these crossings,” Lilith says and the second it’s out, she already can see the answer on Zelda’s face.

“Sabrina,” they both say together. Lilith softens a bit, hard edges filed to severe curves. 

“And Hilda and Ambrose and...and…” Zelda trails off and the end is easy to know. _ Mary _ pushes through and Lilith feels some kind of way.

It takes a lot of internal talking to herself to actually get to where she goes next. 

“Then I’ll leave you to it then,” she whispers to Zelda and the words come out sounding stung. 

The angel watches warily but has calmed too. Lilith feels the lances of cold still in her palms and she brushes them against her dress. 

Zelda’s face is unreadable, a storm cloud of swirling emotions at play. There’s awe and anger and tenderness and questioning all smeared across her visage. Lilith likens the moment to that of before, feeling as if she’s been ground under the heel of a domineering force. 

“It seems as if we have a lot of work to do-on both sides,” Lilith says a little loudly, the mines picking up the echo and carrying it to her doors. 

As she leaves, she closes her eyes and listens to the throbbing beat of her heart. Zelda’s eyes bore into her as she walks away. 

This isn’t over, not by a long shot. It’s just beginning, but it feels as if she’s incredibly alone. Lilith, the Mother of Demons, walks the dim paths back to her realm. She fills with quiet fumes of disconcert. When she gets back home, for a number of reasons, she aims to raise a little hell. 


	10. And the Gates Did Tremble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to go ahead and move up the rating. The chapter after this one gets kind of filthy, haha.

Zelda walks the desolate forest floor, the spikes of her heels vying for purchase on the ground below. Winter has reached Greendale full force and the early January wind bites into her skin. The Hanging Tree stands by as a tired and silent observer, no more aware of the writhing body twisting and turning while suspended from one of its branches. 

A fortified rope with magical binding holds the creature in place as it moans, piercing the wood with pleas for its death. Gashes mar its grizzled skin and it’s face bends every which way in exaggerated motions. Spittle pours from its protruding fangs and its teeth gnash behind curled lips. 

As she paces the expanse of the clearing, Zelda feels little sympathy for the demon. Through a barrage of questions, it’s held its tongue. No secrets have been pried forth and she finds herself tiring of the game. The third in as many weeks, yet no closer to the truth. 

“I’ll ask you again,” Zelda starts sternly, tone authoritarian and booming. “Tell us who sends you to this plane and we will see it fit to spare your soul.”

The demon laughs eerily, which pings off the trees and travels back to her ears. It goes still for a moment, its arms dangling over its head. Zelda walks a bit closer, bends to look it straight in the eyes. She can feel the need for truth raging beneath her body, encasing her chest. 

Suddenly, she jumps back as the creature lunges in her direction. It sends her to her behind and she moves on the hard ground, her shoes creating mounds of dirt as she retreats. The demon takes great pleasure in this. 

“It's going to take more than you, Zelda Spellman,” it hisses “and an angel from the heavens to get the truth from my tongue.” 

Zelda looks back to Malack who leans impassively against the trunk of a nearby tree. Her face is unreadable and Zelda assumes this is because she’s been dealing with demons for weeks now, no longer flustered by the interactions with them as she is. 

“I suppose we could always bring in our queen to settle the matter,” Zelda offers as she rises from the ground, dusting herself off. Dirt settles under her nails and she feels mild irritation at being unclean. Of course, she also was unaware she’d be the muscle in the scenario, taking on the role of bad cop as Malack hung casually back. 

Another guttural laugh rips the air and the demon spins around as the fortified bindings dig into its flesh. “You think I care about Lilith? Just another common whore taking what isn’t rightfully hers.” It spasms with realization and then quickly looks in Zelda’s direction.

Zelda bristles at its words, at the venom it spills when speaking the queen's name. Another male dismissing the role of women, no doubt feeling as if she herself were inferior in its presence. Just as she goes to speak, Malack pulls up by her side. 

“That _ whore _ you speak of is the queen of the realm you dwell in,” Malack starts carefully. Her voice is a little incredulous and she smiles. “Interesting choice of words, don’t you think Ms. Spellman?”

Zelda nods without words, tightening the bonds with a repeated incantation. Screams sail out and the demon glares at both of them. 

“You’ll never live to see the end of this! When the Dark Lord comes forth again, he’ll end you all! He will rip Heaven away from your ruler and shred the earth to nothing,” the demon snarls. “Lilith will be slaughtered and her body strung up for all three realms to see, an example of what a worthless excuse of a soul she is.”

Before she can process what she’s doing, Zelda slides across the expanse between her and the demon. Her hairpin is pulled from her strawberry tresses, curls falling down and hand curling around the silver object. She brings it across the throat of the demon, a gurgling sound emitted into the open space. 

Blood sprays across her outfit, covers her hands. She steps back and wipes the splatter away from her porcelain face. When she comes back to her senses, she feels self-conscious, even more when looking at the lifeless body suspended in front of her. 

If Malack wants to say something, she doesn’t. She turns to walk away from the hanging tree and continues into the distance. Zelda lets her hairpin drop to the ground and runs a shaking hand through her mussed curls. She catches up to Malack and tries to calm her nerves as they make their way. 

“They’re rebelling against her,” the angel says quietly after a few minutes of silence. Zelda nods mutely again. Embarrassment fills her at losing control. 

“It happens sometimes,” is spoken to soothe her, but it does little to take the edge off.

The second it had mentioned Lilith, speaking her name in the same sentence as “whore,” calling her worthless, mentioning the Dark Lord- she’d lost it. Feeling incredibly protective of her Queen, she’d sped through space and time to open the demon’s throat and let its blood wash the ground. She looks at her hands with the speckles of rusted substance and feels guilty again.

“We could have gotten more,” Zelda chokes out in shame. 

“We have a place to start. That’s what matters. But you’re going to have to tell her what’s going on. Otherwise, this is going to blow up and get a lot bigger than with just minions from hell. 

“We still don’t know who they’re consorting with. If they’re not following Lilith, and the Dark Lord remains within Scratch, they’re doing someone else’s bidding,” Zelda tries to reason. 

“Could Scratch be leading the revolt covertly?” Malack questions. 

Zelda huffs out a bit of laughter. “Heavens, no. Lilith has had a firm eye upon him since she carried him through the gates.”

“Then it’s got to be someone struggling with the change of power. Someone still aligned with Lucifer. But we don’t know who,” Malack shakes her head. 

Guilt stacks again and Zelda feels the ghost of the hairpin tearing into the demon’s neck. She wipes absently at her dress with her palms, wanting to rid any trace of the demon left behind. 

“No,” Zelda reluctantly says. “I’ll venture to the Queen’s chambers. We will discuss what you and I have learned.”

They’re to the forest’s edge now and the road bends in both directions. A foggy mist coats the exterior of the surroundings as if to shield against anyone from entering into the tree line. Or getting out. This time, Malack nods without speaking. She fades into the air leaving Zelda alone.

Zelda inhales the air, burning into her lungs. In the distance, a car lazily approaches. Before it can reach to see who is standing in the ditch, she whispers a teleportation spell that whisks her away to the front porch of the mortuary. 

She quickly bypasses the kitchen where Hilda stands baking, her fingers working at the no longer crisp collar since it has been marred with blood. When she enters her room, the material of her dress falls down her body as the last button gives way. 

Zelda stands in the middle of her space in the lace matching undergarment set, straps descending down to hold her stockings in place. There’s blood on them too, dried flecks on her boots. She removes them and tosses them across the room angrily. 

She’d lost her cool at the Hanging Tree. The demon could have divulged way more than it let go. In her haste, she’d ruined a chance to figure out exactly what was going on in the town of Greendale. 

Closing her eyes, she sits on the edge of her bed and tries to steady her breathing. The vision that comes forth is of steady blue eyes, dark red coated lips, the long-fingered hands that had gripped her thigh and pushed her skirt up. Her hands tingle at the phantom feel of the golden lapels of a jacket, the dark rims of the black frames she’d felt during their connection, the way she’d accidentally run some of her fingers through wavy brown hair and tasted the sweetness of the woman near her. 

An ache settles low in her belly, travels to between her thighs. She misses them both and hasn’t really had either one. The line between them is so damn blurred that she’s having trouble acting as she should or arriving at any reasonable conclusion about what she should do.

The Dark Lord had subjected many a witch and mortal to his carnality, sometimes against a lot of their will. He’d had his way with many and they’d obediently obeyed the leader. Just like Zelda had almost done the night before her Black Wedding. 

Her mind wanders to Lilith. Wonders if she does the same, sample the flesh of whoever and whatever she sees fit. Or is she above this? Does she feast on power and fright and all of the other dark feelings swirling in the world? Maybe she only gives herself to precious few, those who earn the right to know her intimately. And what of her earthly counterpart? Is she drawn to Mary because she was Lilith first? Or is she inexplicably captivated with Lilith because she’s trying to see how much humanity actually exists in her?

Zelda’s hand traces down the dips of her body, touches herself through the fabric and she gasps, jolted due to the reality of what she’s done. She has to see her. Them. One or both. She has to. 

Murmuring the summoning spell, Zelda calls forth the Queen of Hell. Once the words have been spoken, she notices her state of undress and has but a breath to utter “Oh, bloody hell” before she’s whisked away instead and standing in front of Lilith in her chambers. 

With a quirk of her eyebrows, she looks Zelda up and down. Zelda almost whimpers as she does her own looking, at the dark hair pulled back from her face in a silver clasp, the way the black floral print robe is draped over her body. Strips of skin are showing and she had to ball her fists in an effort not to touch. 

“You summoned me, I know, but it’s been so long since you’ve visited,” Lilith purrs as she takes in Zelda’s state of undress. She’s referring to the countless hours they’ve spent here, all business though, outlining their ideas for the coven. Not so long ago, Zelda had not even dared to think of the dark thoughts her mind travels to now. _ My, how things have changed _, she thinks.

Lilith moves closer, a breath away. Zelda can feel her robe sliding against her skin and she loses her sight at the touch of it, eyes shutting out all. Instead of being rewarded with Lilith, she gets another of Lilith’s robes wrapped around her shoulders and the retreat of her. 

Groaning in frustration, she opens her eyes and watches Lilith pouring them drinks. She huffs and ties the sash tightly, making her way across the room. She wants to wipe the smirk from Lilith’s mouth with her own but it is erased soon enough, her words sobering the mood. 

“Despite your condition when you appeared, I know better than to think this a social visit. What news have you?” Lilith says and takes a sip from the marbled glass.

“They’re following someone, no doubt. Who, we aren’t sure though,” Zelda takes the glass from Lilith’s painted fingers. She takes a sip, watches her queen. 

To say that Lilith has softened Hell would be the wrong characterization of her rule. She’s tough, sometimes uncompromisingly so, and fear lives in most of who roam the pits. After the downfall of Lucifer, she’d made the bowels of the underworld tremble with the power she excised. Were anyone to make it to her inner sanctum though, they’d never know it.

The room’s corners and edges are alive with vine, tiny flowers, and bark. While not the forests of Greendale, it doesn’t resemble the lake of fire that so often accompanies the versions of hell in stories. _ Her own garden _ flits internally quickly. Has it always been like this or has Lilith willed it into existence? She isn’t fit to ask but finds herself thinking her predecessor wouldn’t have appreciated the pastoral scene. 

“I miss the old ways occasionally,” Lilith seems to read her thoughts and offers a sad smile. She looks around and sighs, stuck in her long and sordid past. 

How difficult it must have been to feel for a fallen angel, to lose the best version of him to something else, to have his rebellion distort him beyond recognition. But then again, confusing feelings swirl within her own body regarding the demoness in front of her. Lines, such blurry blurry lines.

She shakes her head and then motions for Zelda to sit in a chair near where she has perched. Her arms are crossed and her face is unreadable, dark. Apprehension spikes in Zelda, not having much more to offer than what she is giving. Right now, Lilith’s lips and hands are a far off memory of tantalizing, agonizing pain. 

“It seems that sometimes, the old ways die hard, hmm?” Lilith tries for a smile again. Then her face goes serious. “I fear, my High Priestess, we are in dark times. The very principles on which we built our new vision are under attack it seems. I’m prepared to fight until my death. I’ll not be dictated by being ground under someone’s thumb without choice or power of my own.”

The frank words startled Zelda and she stands to move to stop the words coming forth. Her hand connects with Lilith’s shoulders, a delicate touch, one meant to comfort. Blue eyes burn and then close, head turning to nuzzle the outstretched appendage. Queen or no, Lilith still finds ways to surprise Zelda.

“Nor will I,” Zelda tries to soothe. “Lest we not forget that I suffered under the hand of Father Blackwood who would see fit to have me a grinning spinning fool than actually have a spine to think for myself.”

Anger courses through her and she closes her eyes against the onslaught. His whereabouts still unknown, it will be too soon if she ever sees him for the rest of her life or in the one beyond. Lilith opens her eyes again and looks intently at Zelda.

“No coven of mine will ever be repressed by misogynistic, demeaning behavior. Of that, I promise,” Lilith whispers.

Questions swirl. Zelda wants to ask,_ but what if that isn’t long at all? What if what’s coming is too great a force? What if I lose, what if we both do, and die trying? _ Never one to cry, Zelda tries to tamp down the welling emotions. The unknowns are leveling in possibility, but she knows that another dawn is upon them, perhaps even greater than the end of days. The onset of cataclysm, of a fight to retain the new order, is near.

Zelda is shaken from her reverie by a soft kiss to her wrist, the side of her palm. Modesty be damned, this is certainly no time for it. She wants and wants and wants and so she lets herself _ have _when she wraps her right arm around Lilith’s waist.

“I’ll do whatever I can to aid you. I’ll fight by your side. No matter what it is, my queen, you know I’ll do it. This isn’t some blind devotion like with the Dark Lord,” Zelda explains. “I’d follow you to the ends of each of the realms and everywhere in between.” Her voice dips at the last uttering, the weight of what’s coming pulling her tone under. 

The thought of it scares her to death. She’s worked for over a century to preserve herself as best as possible, to do as little as she can to bring a premature end to her time. Youth, agelessness,stasis-none of it matters anymore if she must return to the way of things in the not so distant past.

“I need you,” Zelda hears her ground out. 

For the oldest woman alive to admit this must have taken extreme effort. In all of their time together, things have not come easily for the Mother of Demons. Not servitude, not freedom, not the obtaining of the crown. A stab of sadness whips through Zelda like a cold wind and for the first time ever, she pities the woman in front of her. 

“I’m here,” she can only let out in a hushed strangle. Zelda leans her head in and presses the expanse of her cheek against Lilith’s. “I’ve given you my word.”

“I need them too,” Lilith struggles against the words. 

“Who?”

“Your family. If any of us are to have a chance, I need the entire Spellman clan behind me,” she says and throws her a wry smile. “Hard to believe, I know. But I cannot do this alone.”

Zelda holds her then, feels the strong bones under her hands as she moves them up and down the outline of her body. She’s taken by one of them on a passing trip, led to the four-poster bed with the dark mahogany rising on either side like pillars to their goddess. 

Lilith guides her to the soft stretch of it and the silk-like sheets touch everywhere the robe she was given doesn’t cover. Sharply, she intakes air as Lilith parts the robe and exposes what lies beneath. She shakes her head, a look of reverence traveling to meet Zelda’s eyes. 

She aches for touch, longs for the feel of two women who are battling for dominance in the recesses of her chest. The whys and true should nots inundate but it’s all she can do to not beg for claim. 

Lips, pale pink and earthly almost, wander like stalking apparitions across her neck, her chest. Zelda closes her eyes again because what good will seeing do when Lilith makes everything kinesthetic?

“Spend the night with me, Zelda,” Lilith speaks into her body. 

Her eyes open wide, shaken.

_ Spend the night with me, Zelda Spellman. _

Her stomach lurches. Farther off, the demons of hell lurch too. They fling themselves forward, bodies filled up with revolution and command. In the mines, the doors of the Underworld crack slightly. Dozens of sets of claws fit between. A low rumble shakes the ground. 


	11. And What If We Lose Our Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have taken the time to comment/leave kudos. It means the world to me.

No place can hold her soul. It’s restless and claws away at her skin. She wishes she could reach into her chest, past blood and organ, and find where it lies. Like removing a shadow, she wishes she could peel it out of her and leave it writhing on the ground.

Her physical body ends up on Mary Wardwell’s porch, shoulders rolling to rid the distant feeling of touch. She’s shivering and shaking when the door opens and startled eyes look past her, combing around the perimeter.

“Come in,” she hears as she’s pulled into the warmth of the woman’s home. 

It’s nothing like she expected. Something caught between another decade and the present, a fringed lamp sits on a nearby table glowing, a mirror reflecting the flames of the hearth on the other. All around, little contradictions to the thought of decor. Mary seems to catch her looking at everything and becomes self-conscious. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she laughs nervously and looks around. “I mean, if I could remember why it got like this in the first place.”

Zelda doesn’t want to talk about what’s gone on in the last bit of time. She doesn’t want to explain what she has barely understood to begin with. Mary needs to  _ just be quiet  _ to stifle this throbbing noise in her head and the uneasiness down lower. 

The only way she can think to do it is with her lips. She moves across the room in a quick clip, shoving against Mary with the force of the agony she feels inside. The little lamp falls to the ground with a thud as Zelda moves her to the top of its surface. 

It protests loudly with a squeak that emanates outward into the whole room. Zelda keeps Mary from falling feet over end by grabbing her shirt and balling it in fists in her hands. 

She’s  _ rough _ , god, is she ever rough. It’s heat and fervor and angst breaking through the dam. She paws at Mary like a lust-filled teenager, so pent up and in need of it, she’s careless. 

For what it’s worth, Mary follows her lead quite well. Not pegging her for one to have all that much spitfire in her initially, Zelda grins against the closing of Mary’s teeth on her lips and lets a moan, unbidden, escape. 

Her hand finds a boldness of its own as it goes underneath the olive sweater atop Mary’s chest, fingers kneading the flesh of her sides as she kisses the air from both of their lungs. Behind her, touch descends lower, excruciatingly slow, and she thinks she might go mad before it reaches where she wants it most. 

“Zelda,” gets out somehow and she wonders for a split second how words got into the room when nothing but pants and sighs and moans have been stacking up heavily. It’s repeated again and mid-glide of her lips, she’s pushed away and left floundering in space. 

“Wha…”

“Zelda, Zelda, please. Wait,” Mary struggles to regain composure. She looks down to see one of Zelda’s hands still in her shirt and wiggles a little to back away which disconnects them slightly. She leans forward and rests her head against Zelda’s.

“What are you doing?” Zelda growls lowly. She’s too heated up to want to cool down. 

“I thought we agreed,” Mary swallows hard. “The night of the formal. I wanted you to come home with me, but you said it’d be best if we took things slow.”

“I was wrong,” Zelda says with a shake of her head and grips Mary’s sides again, leaning forward to kiss her once more. A gentle hand to her face stops her and she tries not to burst into tears. 

“Something’s happened,” Mary gathers. How astute. Zelda can only bark out a sarcastic laugh as the mood is shot to hell.

Damn it all. 

Lilith’s mouth had been on her sternum, her hands tangled in Zelda’s hair when she’d stopped the wonderful sensations to talk nonsense into Zelda’s ears. 

The consummation of lust had never occurred and instead, she’d stared at the ceiling as Lilith had fallen asleep against her body. Wrecked down below, thoroughly in a mess, she’d teleported away and stood wired in her own home. 

If Lilith wouldn’t pull the trigger, if she’d deny Zelda of her body-her lips and fingers in the most sacred of places-then she would have to see if Mary Wardwell had any more audacity to her. 

Yes, she supposed, searching for fulfillment while the world was on its end was bad form. She’d surmised that Lilith needed comfort as much as she did and had forged ahead in an attempt at ecstasy. Why Lilith had not claimed her with what she sought had baffled her to no end. 

Now it appeared Mary was out to tread the same path and Zelda absolutely couldn’t stand it. With blood on her hands, fire in her belly, and yearnings in her heart, she’d pulled on a simple long-sleeved shirt and, egads, pants to make her way here. 

“Of course something’s happened,” Zelda says in exasperation and runs a hand through her wild hair. Stepping out of Mary’s grasp, she paces and tries to ignore the gliding mess between her legs. 

“Stop. Talk to me,” Mary pleads and reaches for her hand. She shies away. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Zelda dismisses. 

“Why, because I’m a mortal?”

“For precisely that reason,” Zelda bites off and sees Mary shrink almost imperceptibly.  _ Not Lilith _ …She brings a hand to her forehead and bites back a sob. “Everything is so incredibly fucked up.”

“Try me,” Mary combats. Zelda glances over to see her eyebrows raised and hands folded in her lap. She still sits maddeningly atop the table Zelda had pushed her on. 

“What if I told you we have a history,” Zelda lets out and then regrets it immediately. 

Mary shifts uncomfortably and adjusts her frames. “What kind?”

“In the time you’re missing.”

Mary stands at this and stills Zelda from moving. “If I didn’t run for the hills when you told me you were a witch, when you showed me that binding spell, why would what you have to say do that now?”

“It means more now,” Zelda cries. More regret, but the things won’t stop spilling out. 

“Is that why I feel drawn to you?” Mary asks softly. “Even though I’ve never done anything like this in my entire life, there’s something about you. Like we know each other more than the shaky beginnings of a new relationship.”

The word relationship halts the blood in Zelda and she glances up from the floor to catch Mary’s eyes. Is that what Mary thinks they’re barreling toward? How can she even begin to tell the woman in front of her even some version of the truth? Explaining Lilith is like an oxymoron in itself, so twisted and convoluted that mortals cannot possibly understand.

“We knew each other, yes. But the dynamic wasn’t what it is now,” Zelda offers by way of an explanation. It’s easier than saying what’s actually true. 

Mary makes her way over to Zelda again and languidly wraps a hand around her waist. Her eyes seem to hold an understanding even though there is no possible way they could, the tale of her missing time not yet spoken. She traces the contour of Zelda’s cheek and the only sound in the room, Zelda thinks, is her own breathing and the crackle of the fire. A tingle reminds her she’d left Lilith wrecked, is quickly becoming that way again. Why is it so  _ maddening _ to find someone to give her what she needs?

“Tell me,” Mary implores. 

And even though Zelda can barely get past the smell of her skin, the way the light of the fire illuminates those striking features that she has grown secretly so attached to, she can’t bear to tell her everything. Not yet. Not when so much hangs in the balance yet again. It takes everything in her to wiggle free of her hips away from Mary’s and grab a cup cooling nearby. She takes a long drink but its already past the point of being enjoyable.

“I can’t. Not yet. But soon, I promise. There are many things happening right now, with Greendale, with me…”

“And don’t you think you’ve become my business?” Mary slams a palm angrily into the table and shakes her head.

The tone and action surprise Zelda and she feels herself growing hot. It spreads up her chest, colors her skin, and changes the way her own voice exits from her mouth.

“Excuse me?” she lets off in a choking cough.

“Why did you come here tonight, Zelda?” Mary starts and Zelda can hear the accusations already forming on her tongue. “If not to tell me what’s going on so that I can help, then what for? To seduce me so you could forget your problems?”

“Mary, I’m not…”

“You’re not what?” Mary huffs in exasperation. “I may have no right to you, but something changed when you kissed me on my porch a couple of months ago. I’ve tried to be understanding of you, of your time which I know is valuable. But the Winter Formal just confirmed what I felt that night, right out there. I want more from this. From us.”

Zelda feels her heart pick up its past inside of her chest and she would be frigid if she didn’t admit that the words pack a punch. She looks over at Mary’s passionate and angry, yet scared face and tries to silently rake her fingers through to pull the dark tendrils stirring of the woman whom she prays to every night. She wants to give Mary all that she has to offer, but it’s scant as of present. She extends her hand and catches the other woman, bringing her back to the fold of their bodies.

“I will tell you what you ask, but give me time,” Zelda pleads. “Give me time to make sense of it yet.” Time to figure out what to tell Mary, what to tell Lilith, what to tell the many women vying for attention and dominance in her life. There are so many that her mind touches on as she speaks the words.

“How long?” Mary whispers.

“As long as it takes,” Zelda says simply. She pulls Mary in and wraps her arms around her. She’s stiff at first but Zelda feels her give way after a few moments. Arms circle, hold tightly. She feels Mary lean her head against her and sigh. Eventually, Mary pulls away and gives Zelda a small nod.

“Okay,” she agrees. 

Her eyes are so  _ blue  _ and Zelda had wanted her so badly when she showed up on her doorstep. While not in the cards it seems, she cannot help herself from leaning in and kissing her again, tasting her delicate lips. The Winter Formal feels forever ago, the last time she got to touch the woman in front of her too far in the past. As she lets her lips glide across Mary’s, her heart pushes, pulls, like the waters of the sea. She’s aflood with emotions she doesn’t have detailed knowledge of. Centuries have left her ill-prepared for what is happening now. 

Inside, past skin and blood and bone, her heart sits tightly coiled in her chest. Oh, how it aches so. Longing twists and contorts it into nothing Zelda has lived with her entire life. 

_ I’m falling for you _ , she thinks. 

She just isn’t sure who the you is-the soul amid brimstone or the woman whose face is burrowed in the crook of her neck. 

****************

The undergrowth of the canopy of trees has all but taken in the tiny cabin. Vines curl around every inch of its surface and the wood tries desperately to cling for strength against the snapping wind on the gnarled greenery. Small white flowers cover the surface, spiky looking virgin bower springing to life.  _ In the middle of winter… _

The vines seem to turn in her direction as she approaches, warily taking notice of her presence and judging her uncleanliness to enter. The foliage seems to whisper  _ you are condemned _ but Zelda tried to push the thought out of her mind. As she brings her hand to the door, she swears the vines move away from her balled up fist poised to knock. Surely not…

She’s unnerved, to say the least, so opts instead to forgo the announcement of her arrival and instead chooses to barge in. When she walks through the door and closes it behind her, she instantly feels awkward as she looks around the place for the first time. 

Modestly furnished, it only holds meager amenities. A few chairs, a table. Off to the side, a narrow hallway speaks of being a path to a bedroom. The living space, small as it is, is connected to a kitchen area. Pale light filters through a window above the sink, casting an ethereal glow on the table and chairs, on the figure sitting in one. Golden eyes look up from its surface and her head quirks to the side.

“Do come in,” Malack says by way of hello.

Instead of waiting to be offered a seat, Zelda sits and drags the newspaper out from under Malack’s eye, bringing in close to her body. It’s in a language she isn’t even familiar with and she holds it up with a silent query.

“Aramaic sometimes, Adamic sometimes,” Malack answers.

“Adamic?” The first she’s heard of. The second is new.

“The language spoken by Adam in the Garden of Eden. The first speech of this realm.”

Zelda’s heart lurches at the mention of Adam, thinks to the woman who’s left a phantom touch upon her lips, the hot touch of her hands on her thighs, the weight of her body on her breast. Does Lilith know this language too, or is it dead, only to be known by the celestial creatures of the false god? Everything aches in Zelda’s chest as she turns inward, as she feels the turmoil of Lilith inside still waging all-out war on the somewhat familiar newness of Mary Wardwell.  _ I owe them both answers… _

Malack covers a hand over the paper where Zelda’s eyes have glossed over in thought. She jerks back a little and shakes her head. “Why are you here, Zelda?”

“Can’t I stop by to visit my favorite angel?” It sounds stupid the second she says it.

Malack barks out a laugh and leans back in her chair. There’s a smug look on her face but Zelda finds it surprisingly charming and not one she wants to wipe away instantly. The woman has really grown on her through all the demon-slaying and she would be remiss to say otherwise. Luckily, the statement comes out veiled in sarcasm, which is her usual brand, so the weight of it goes unnoticed to the being in front of her. She watches as her face goes serious and she reaches a hand across the table to hold Zelda’s.

“What’s happened?” she says softly and Zelda can’t take her eyes or her touch so she yanks away and stands, placing a hand to her forehead.

“I must be certifiably insane,” Zelda begins and then glances over to see if the woman has any rebuttal. It does not come so she continues on. “I have managed to get myself in a precarious situation it seems.”

Zelda can’t understand why she stops again, waiting on Malack yet again to interject  _ something,  _ but the woman remains maddeningly silent. Glancing down at her watch, she notes the time. Seven minutes to go from endearment to frustration.

“Forget it,” Zelda waves off and goes to the door. When she opens it, a rush of cold air hits her already chapped and reddened cheeks but disappears an instant later and a comforting warmth envelopes her. 

“Hey now,” Malack soothes and pulls her back past the door frame. Her breath comes out in a huff as she’s spun around to face calm eyes. “Let’s hear about said “precarious situation,” hmm?” 

She should ease into it really, but it all spills out in an expelled breath of words. “IalmostsleptwithLillithandMary.” She winces after it all tumbles from her lips and then opens one eye to see the reaction she’s getting. 

Malack, Heavens help her, looks stupefied. “Almost,” she says slowly as if she’s trying to understand. Zelda supposes that’s to be expected considering this is the first she’s ever uttered about either of them, the admission not shocking insomuch as uncharacteristic of her usually lack of forthcoming. 

“Yes. With Lilith, it was almost in her chambers in Hell and then later, with Mary…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Malack raises her voice and her eyes are wide. Zelda can hear the disbelief in her voice and braces for what she knows is coming. “You’ve gone to  _ Hell _ since the hanging tree? Are you nuts?”

“I think I prefaced this conversation by stating exactly that,” Zelda chides. 

Malack’s hands go wide and she begins to pace while shaking her head. “I don’t  _ get _ this place. Thousands of years to get some sort of  _ hold _ on yourselves and you still act as ignorant as when you left the garden.”

The words incense Zelda beyond reason. Maybe it’s being compared to mortals, maybe it’s the insult of ignorance, maybe it’s the allusion to Lilith  _ again _ , but she feels herself come unglued. 

“I came here to talk to you. To confide in you! And now I get your quick judgment on a situation you have but a sliver of understanding on,” she spits with all the venom she can find in her body.

“You’re cavorting with the Queen of Hell and the poor woman who she’s been stringing along for months. How can you honestly juggle them both and expect the worst not to come of it?” Malack accuses incredulously. 

The thing of it is, Zelda has already run every possible outcome in her head and the only ones that turn out even somewhat hopeful feel more like dreams than actual realities. She tasted the pure power and evil from Lilith’s mouth, the retribution possible on her skin. She’s twisted her fingers in the innocence of Mary’s essence, scraped her tongue along the freefall of her life losing its purchase. She can’t conceivably fathom how she can make it out of all of this with either of them intact.

Malack grows deathly still and starts to shake her head dramatically. A pained look crosses her face. “No, say it isn’t so.”

Zelda can do nothing but keep the air without her words. They’re futile to combat what Malack has already worked out for herself. A hand covers Malack's mouth and her eyes go wide as she stares at the wooden planks of the floor. 

“You’re in love with them.”

At this, Zelda falls to her knees and begins to cry because honestly, it is all so fucked like she’d told Mary and she hasn’t the slightest idea what to do. So she lets the tears fall and she lets sobs wrack her body until she feels like she’s been scooped out from the inside. The floorboards are warm under her palms and the saltiness of her tears trek down her face and splash on the tops of her hands. 

She should be basking in love, sinking into the guilty wonderfulness of it. The mortals fight for it, die for it. They devote holidays to the very concept of it. While she’s felt the errant tickle of it before in her life, nothing has been as overwhelming as this. 

Zelda weeps for what feels like hours, drained by the time she feels the pulsing goodness of a hand touching her wet cheek and how dare she. How  _ dare _ she. She falls over backward to get away from the feel of Malack’s skin on her and shoves her heels into the ground in an effort to get away. 

“Don’t,” Malack pleads and Zelda holds up a hand to silence her.

It comes out as an incantation that winds around the angel’s throat. She knows it won’t hold her long but she doesn’t need that much time-just enough to scramble out the door. Zelda watches as her hand goes to her throat to try to remove the invisible fingertips cutting off the air to her windpipe.

More tears start to spill forth as Zelda falls out the door, scrambling away as Malack falls to the floor. Muttering a quick phrase, she teleports to her room and falls across the covers of her bed. 

Drowning in the feelings and sensations of loss, sleep pulls her gratefully under. 


	12. In the Wood We Did Meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I should have posted this before part 3 aired! But I didn't, so try not to leave me hate comments about Mary Wardwell. If you've watched the show, know I'm aggravated with her too.
> 
> Also, I know this chapter is probably going to be bittersweet based on what is now canon, but that's why we have the world of fanfiction-to weave a story as we see fit. Thank you to all who see this little (or now long) tale for its entertainment value and comment or leave a kudos.
> 
> This chapter is pretty filthy so I upped the rating. Fair warning.

She stands lazily against the trunk of a dead tree, smacking a piece of gum rather theatrically as she waits for the youngest Spellman to grace her with her presence. Why must she be the one who’s always kept waiting? These fucking Spellman women have more than used their quota of patience and Lilith tries to remember precisely why she hasn’t ripped them limb from limb. 

Oh, right. 

There’s just a little war brewing, her own realm revolting, she’s almost managed to make a lover out of the matriarch of the Spellman clan, and she’s being so incredibly dense that she has to roll the idiocy off her body with a circling of her shoulders. 

“Bloody fuck,” Lilith murmurs into the air and she rolls her eyes. 

It does little to calm the wild beat of her heart or her mind from wandering to the source of much antagonization lately. She can close her eyes and picture that creamy white skin underneath her fingertips, the delicate silk and soft red hair. 

She lets a groan escape and _ damn _, isn’t she supposed to have better control than this? If Zelda were in front of her right this second, she’d do a little better than tease her with touch and mumbled ridiculous nonsense into her body. 

How embarrassing she’d been. How _ human _. She spits on the ground and remembers back to when she almost was. Even then, she’d been twisted. Maybe she was borne unto the Earth that way, maybe it all came at the hand of Adam or later, Lucifer. Either way, she’d become a wicked woman who walked the Earth looking for a way not to be stuck under the heel of a man. 

It had cost her centuries in turmoil, an eon of submitting until the time was right to cut the head from the beast who would have her be a bumbling, stumbling fool forever. 

A guttural growl exits her body as she looks up to see Sabrina approaching from across the way. Leaning off of her perch on her heels, she meets her halfway. It takes everything in her to not let old emotions well. The girl in front of her had made it abundantly clear she wanted, wants, nothing to do with the throne. That it’s Lilith’s to keep. Or lose. 

Anger boils heavily in Lilith and she shouldn’t be wasting her time on this when she’s got a revolt going on against her and her rule. It’s all so damn connected though, and she can’t slog through one without forgetting the other. There is no Queendom if she can’t have Zelda Spellman at her side. If every Spellman isn’t backing her in the upcoming conflict. 

“Lilith,” Sabrina nods seriously, but there’s a glint in her eye that Lilith can only surmise is that sassy quirk of hers rearing its annoying head. 

Of course, she won’t just submit to Lilith anymore than she had to Lucifer. She can only let a tired sigh escape her and she launches the tasteless gum nearby and comes to stand in front of the plucky blonde. 

“It’s been a while,” Lilith offers as her own greeting. 

“Yes. I believe the last time we spoke, you were carrying the body of my boyfriend through the gates of hell with you,” Sabrina smiles like saccharine. 

“Must we start off on this foot,” Lilith drawls in frustration. “You know as well as I do Mr. Scratch was no match for you and your family to watch over with Lucifer looking for any means of escape.”

“Such an interesting word. Escape,” Sabrina smiles and shrugs her shoulders. Lilith balls her hands into fists at what’s coming. “I hear that’s the theme for right now. Aunt Zee spends a lot of her time chasing demons.”

“Oh, she tells you this, does she? Has she also mentioned her lackadaisical attitude toward the Church? Has she spoken of just exactly who has been keeping her occupied as of late?”

Sabrina frowns at this and shivers a little against a cold wind. Her nose has started to turn the color of her sweater and Lilith feels her own type of chill, so far removed from the heat and comfort of her own place in life. 

Lilith crosses her arms and moves her eyes around the edges of the forest. The day is misty and gray, not uncommon for this time of year. It sends a wave of nostalgia through Lilith and she feels even more ridiculous for missing this. So used to roaming the Earth, she’s finding it hard to stay put in her nine circles. 

For a number of reasons. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sabrina scrunches up her face. 

“How’s that favorite teacher of yours doing?” Lilith asks a little too fast and Sabrina cocks her head to the side. She continues with a wave of her hands. “I mean, any adverse effects? Any random bouts of coughing, strange behavior?”

“Did you do something _ else _ to her?” the teenager accuses and Lilith makes a slicing motion across her neck. 

“No, just curious is all. I’m not exactly a pro at bringing people back from the dead.” She shrugs. 

“Just stay out of her. She’s a great principal and we think a lot of her.”

Lilith is examining the blood red of her nails and freezes when she hears the pronoun Sabrina uses. She looks up and Sabrina is standing silently but holds a world of speech on her face. She glances up and down Lilith’s body and Lilith instantly wants to peel back the skin of Mary Wardwell and show this youngling how much worse all of this can be, how grateful they should be because she chooses to keep up the guise of the woman’s body she borrowed. 

Then these Spellman women might appreciate her a little more. A fine feeling stirs as she realizes this girl’s eldest aunt very much does, but that is quickly slapped down by the notion that maybe, just maybe, that also means she’s obedient to the woman whose skin she’s mimicking. 

“We?” Lilith asks sticky sweetly and Sabrina sees right through it. Damn her.

“Yes, we. Aunties have gotten to know her. You know, like you could have done with me in the first place instead of killing Ms. Wardwell and using her as your plaything.”

“She was quite fun, I admit,” Lilith bites out and sends a quick glance Sabrina’s way. When she finds little amusement there, she presses on. “Anyway, it’s come to my attention that Greendale is in a bit of a pickle and I’m needing some reinforcements.”

“If you’ll find a way to get Nick away from Lucifer,” Sabrina says quickly. 

“I didn’t come here to barter. If you’re one of my followers, I’m going to need your cooperation on this.”

“Maybe I’m not as easy to cooperate with as my Aunt Zee,” Sabrina shrugs again and Lilith wants to raze the earth. 

She can’t help but snort and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Someone more difficult than Zelda Spellman. Times have indeed changed. Regardless, with your aunt working with the angel, I’m finding it hard to keep a few good men in my ranks, so to speak.”

“Angel? What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” Sabrina says clearly confused.

“Why, that cheeky little thing teaching you. _ ‘And what will bow your shoulders down will be the vicious and worthless company with whom you will fall into this abyss. _’ Sage words,” Lilith stalks toward Sabrina, eyes ice fire as she recites the text. She’s been around long enough to have read it in its original form, to have seen countless translations and revisions of numerous texts, including her own lost in some dusty annals of time. 

“Ms. Malack? She’s an angel? What is _ with _ this place?” Sabrina says in exasperation. 

“It seems your beloved teacher turned principal has brought the enemy to my doorstep,” Lilith says dangerously low. 

Sabrina shakes her head, refusing to believe. Lilith is finding it hard to keep her cool, despite previously making peace with the soul in front of her. Lilith hadn’t wanted to believe it either, a Power skulking in the shadow of a human. A clever move, if it hadn’t already been used by herself. 

“Aunt Zee wouldn’t change sides. I know her. She wouldn’t hide something like this from me if she didn’t think it necessary. There’s got to be something bigger going on,” Sabrina tries to defend. 

“And what of this Wardwell woman? Have you seen your aunt with her lately?” Lilith questions lazily, but it doesn’t come out as disconnected from actual interest as she would like. 

Sabrina eyes her warily but answers. “They both chaperoned the Winter Formal a few weeks ago. I think Aunt Zee has been by her home a few times, but nothing frequent.”

Interesting indeed. 

“So you’d say they’re...close?” Lilith finds herself continuing on. She’s gritting her teeth when she says it and it’s not hard to hear the territorial edge in it. Not exactly planning on telling Sabrina she’s played tonsil hockey with her aunt, she finds herself equally amused at the hint she’s dropped as well.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Sabrina says, confused.

Even the mere insinuation is enough for Lilith to make up her mind. She’s given Zelda freewill and ample enough time to decide which side of the line she’s fighting on. If the woman won’t tell her, she guesses she will have to coax it out of her. 

_ This isn’t love _echoes in the back of her mind but she shoves it aside. She hasn’t ever learned the word truly anyway so she leaves Sabrina in the clearing of the woods lost and wondering what has just happened. 

In a wisp of smoke, Lilith is back in her chambers and staring into the cracked glass mirroring back her reflection. Swirling a finger around in her mouth, she traces the edges of it and decides to do a little retcon before she arrives at the show. 

***************************

Somewhere deep in the night, snow builds in drifts and clings like white lumps of marshmallow to the eaves of the Spellman mortuary. The chill pierces the home and sends Zelda in search of the items needed to build a fire. 

One by one, the members of the household make their way toward the flames, drawn to the heat. They sit in a collected silence, none speaking. Only the hisses and pops of the fire fill the room until Hilda lets out a sigh. 

“Well, aren’t we a chipper lot,” she chuckles with little mirth. Zelda can feel her eyes surveying all of the members of their family, but none offer up anything. 

Hilda has been slightly under the weather, spending much of her time burrowed underneath large blankets and peeking out every now and again. The house smells of various herbs and ingredients for salves rubbed onto her chest. A hint of Vicks fills the air too and Zelda would chastise her for using mortal remedies if she had any heart to. 

Ambrose’s plight has been the same for a while, stuck between duty to family and clawing want to see the world again after being cooped up for seventy-five years. He looks longingly out the window and Zelda can’t help but feel his restlessness.

Sabrina’s quiet is one she can’t bring herself to touch. There’s something dark in her look and she could almost smell Lilith on her as she’d walked in the door a few passing nights ago. She’d wanted to wring her neck for talking to Lilith without her, but after spending the night crying into her bedsheets, she hadn’t had the strength to muster a fight. 

A drift falls from the house and lands somewhere in another heap of snow. Zelda can’t stand it any longer and rises from her perch on the floor in front of the fire. 

“I’m going out,” she announces which turns three sets of eyes to her curiously. 

She’s still in her nighttime ware but if she sits here, she will go stir crazy. With the cold and the snow and the gray day barely pushing any natural light into the room, she cannot sit idly. 

If they really want to know her destination, they gratefully don’t ask. She makes her way upstairs and puts on a warm pair of leggings, snow boots with faux fur, and pulls a thick maroon sweater over her head. 

It’s much too cold to try and wade through the hills of glistening white, even more impossible to navigate with a vehicle. The weather has left her no choice but to make her journey through teleportation. She’s not expecting her, but when has Zelda shown up anywhere lately upon expectation? 

She mutters the words and is standing on Mary’s porch before she can catch another breath. Bringing a hand to the door, she knocks and is instantly shuffled into the coziness of the home. 

Snow clings to the grooves in her boots and she does stomping swipes on the mat to prevent moisture from trailing across Mary’s floor. Just as her foot lands again, she’s caught by the waist and dragged into a sleepy kiss. 

Mint freshness transfers into her own mouth as she moves against Mary, the sound of their connecting traveling to her ears. It quickens her pulse and begins the moisture pooling below and _ not this again _because it’s becoming increasingly hard to not want every inch of Mary’s skin on her own. 

Mindful of her last time here, she breaks the kiss and leaves Mary dangling in the air, eyes closed and blindly searching for what she’s lost. 

“I just...I need a minute,” Zelda smiles and tries to hit pause for a moment, to gather her composure and get some decorum about her. It pains her to ask for the time to cool off when she’d like nothing more than to push the flattened palm on her hip downward and rut against it into satisfaction. 

“Yes, give the woman a little time,” a lilting voice rings in the room and both of the women jump in one another’s embrace. 

Zelda immediately runs cold and she chances a look at Mary who looks absolutely terrified. _ Oh no, oh no, oh no… _

“Who’s there?” Mary says shakily. 

Zelda takes a moment to grip Mary tighter, irrationally thinking bringing her closer will somehow protect her from the voice bouncing off the walls of the room. This is happening because of her. She should have known better. She’s repeatedly put her on the back burner with no answers, instead spending all her time ending demonic entities and running beside the angel.

“Let me handle this,” Zelda whispers lowly and brings Mary impossibly closer. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“As if I’d do anything to your little plaything. _ Again _,” Lilith purrs. 

Zelda glances behind Mary to the mirror on the nearby wall. Lilith smiles back with the face of the woman standing in front of her and Zelda has to close her eyes to say her next words.

“Don’t start something, Lilith. Don’t act as if you’re innocent in all of this,” Zelda warns. 

“Innocent in what?” Mary whispers against Zelda. 

“A series of interesting events that involve you, my dear. After all, it’s the reason that she’s fallen for you. Or me. Or me as you. The lines are all blurred, of course. That, I will admit, is probably my fault for taking possession of your body for a while,” Lilith explains and Zelda tries to grip Mary tighter as she tries to pull away, incensed. 

“What is she talking about? Who is this Lilith?” Mary turns to Zelda. Whether she intentionally doesn’t address Lilith’s panic-inducing comment, Zelda doesn’t know. 

She also still hasn’t looked at the mirror to see her own face staring back and Zelda reaches out, pleading with her eyes. 

“Interesting my name hasn’t come up, considering she spent the night in my chambers a few nights ago,” Lilith says amused. 

Mary’s eyes go stricken and her mouth hangs open. She looks as if the wind has been knocked from her and her brows furrow in sorrow. Zelda tries to grab hold of her again, but Mary backs away as tears start at the corners of her eyes.

“Mary, please. Just listen to me,” Zelda begs, not above it now. 

“I asked you to stay with me,” Mary says quietly. “You told me no. That you weren’t ready for that yet. That we weren’t.”

“I just didn’t want to rush you. I’ve had a long time to be in this world. I didn’t know if being with me, a woman, was something you wanted. I didn’t want to pressure you in any way,” Zelda tries. She reaches out and connects then, tries not to cry because when has she ever been this sentimental? Rarely ever.

“I’ve wanted you for months,” Zelda sighs out the truth. “Before that, probably.” She darts her eyes over to the mirror and Lilith has a smug look on Mary’s face. Zelda inhales a sharp breath as Lilith disappears and comes from the shadows, stalking toward both her and Mary, still looking like the later but more blazing siren. 

It’s so easy to see the difference now that they’re standing here together. Mary, with her light and kind eyes, her pale lipstick that doesn’t ever get to the crimson shade Lilith insists on wearing. She touches Zelda different and she tastes different when she brings her tongue in to touch. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Zelda’s nostrils flare as she grips Mary with all of her might, hears the swift intake of breath as the woman meets her doppelgänger. Lilith’s got Mary’s hair in curls, the black sheen of the gown she’s wearing casting iridescence over its length.

“My God,” Mary gasps.

“Something like that,” Lilith agrees and comes to land against Zelda’s other side that Mary isn’t burrowed against. “Now will you look at this. Both of your girls in your arms, Zelda. Whatever are you going to do with us now?”

She’s stupid. So fucking stupid. She’s played a dangerous game and now here it is backfiring completely. She should have told Lilith she’d lead her coven, told Mary she would be supportive of Sabrina’s education but nothing more. Now she’s got one arm around Mary who still looks utterly mortified and Lilith clings to her other and grins back with Mary’s smile, all Cheshire Cat. 

“We should leave, Mary,” Zelda grounds out with great effort as Lilith curls even deeper into her side. 

She knows that the demoness doesn’t look like Mary, not really, but her mind can’t separate it from her heart and she wilts under the heat of Lilith speaking into her ear.

“Now, now, my high priestess. Let's not be hasty. The three of us could have a lot of fun here if your Mary is game and willing,” Lilith says and runs a finger delicately under the alabaster curve of Zelda’s chin. 

Mary glares at the touch and Zelda knits her eyebrows together in an apology. Something hard settles in Mary’s look, something wild too, and she’s looking at her own glacier eyes speaking words that send electric jolts straight to Zelda’s core. 

“I wanted our first time to be just us. But if this is what you want, the both of us, I’ll do it. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you. At least this way, I get to as well.”

Zelda clenches, hard, and she knows this is so beyond good judgment but then Lilith’s in her ear again and scraping her bright red nails in a trail down her neck and a moan comes out strangled and raw. Mary watches Zelda melt under the touch and presses tightly to her, just as combative to make her own presence known. 

She’s so proud of her, how she doesn’t back down against the intimidating personality of Lilith. And Lilith, even though being puckish as she is, seems more than a little impressed that the mortal woman is holding her own against a centuries-old witch and newly ascended goddess. 

Zelda can’t hold back any longer, given the go-ahead by Mary and spurred on by Lilith. She turns to Mary and holds her in her arms, whispers “I’m in love with you” and kisses her with pressure underneath the ambiguity of it all. 

Mary traces her hands up and down Zelda’s ribs, her fingers feeling as if they could burn through the fabric. Behind her, Lilith steps flush against her and moves her hair to the side, exposing the curving expanse of her neck. Her touch is as light as the spider familiars that roam Zelda’s home and she’s having a hard time understanding how Lilith and Mary can feel so opposite. 

_ Because they’re not the same. _

She repeats it over and over to herself as Lilith connects her version of Mary’s lips to the uncovered flesh, as Mary quietly asks for permission to touch her heated skin beneath the maroon of her sweater. Zelda is weak to them, pure putty. She wraps her own fingers at the base of Mary’s neck and kisses her hard, dragging her lips fervently against the woman in front of her, whose hands seek purchase against the flesh of her stomach. 

Mary’s hands are cool and Zelda’s stomach sucks in a bit at the initial contact, a direct one-eighty to the warmth radiating from the ones tracing lines up and down her back. Stuck between two points of pleasure, an errant thought flits through her mind and she wonders if Lilith and Mary are going to forgo decorum, leaving them to fuck like wild women on the cabin floor. How does all this end? 

So many avenues of eventuality that can occur: Mary and Lilith both become pliable under her fingers, one or the other takes turns with her letting Zelda become one with the both of them, she’s laid out prostrate and devoured by the both. The anticipation of it makes her slick between the legs, left gasping as they both work their bodies against her in a different kind of magic. 

Lilith has applied her version of Mary’s lips to the slope of Zelda’s shoulder and she meets the actual woman’s eyes across from where her lips have attached. There is a hitch of breath and Zelda feels Lilith curling the lips applied in a devious smile. 

“See how fun this could all be?” Lilith speaks to Mary, winding her arm underneath Zelda’s to touch Mary’s wrist. The woman pulls back quickly and her blue eyes burn with hot fire. 

“I’ve agreed to this, yes. But I simply cannot…” she trails off as if unsure how to finish her sentence. 

Lilith pulls away and places her palms on Zelda’s shoulders, her head resting atop her right one. As for herself, Zelda is fully toppled over already. Between having Mary on her lips and Lilith feasting on her back and shoulders, she can hardly get hold of the wild beat of her heart.

“It’s okay,” Lilith assures and saunters to the worn chair by the fire, one she’s sat in countless times on countless nights before now. “I’m more of a spectator kind of gal anyway.” She points and sits, shifts in the chair seductively, spreading her feet apart and leaning foward. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Zelda tears her eyes away from Lilith to look at Mary. “I can whisk us away in an instant, just say the words.” 

“And leave yourself in the state you’re in, just like you left my bedchambers mere nights ago? Why, I can practically smell you from here,” Lilith laughs. 

“Enough!” Zelda yells and glares at Lilith. “What do you want of me? Do you want me to spill out every singular thought and emotion I’ve had in the last few months?” Lilith looks amused but says nothing.

“Zelda, it’s okay. Really,” Mary soothes with a calming hand. She cups her face and looks at her through the black rims of her glasses. “Is this what you want? To be with both of us?” 

_ Yes _, is Zelda’s pathetically weak and wounded reply as she feels tears start to well, but then Mary steps back and removes her tan sweater from her body and throws it atop the table that Lilith sits beside. The demoness lets out a shocked sound as it lands.

Dear gods, Zelda hasn't had enough foresight to expect any of this. While not exactly thinking Mary would stand clutching her pearls in demurity, she hadn’t thought she would also peel her pants down her body and be standing before Zelda in a white sheer lace bra that would leave little to the imagination and high cut panties that sit perfectly on her angular hips. 

Zelda’s mouth waters at the beyond beautiful sight she is beholding. Mary is not tall by any means, almost level with Zelda’s own height, but the dips and curves of her legs look absolutely stunning in the dim light of the morning. She chances a look in Lilith’s direction but is met by an impassive face. Of course, she isn’t shocked. She’s lived in the body for a fairly long time. 

“Go on,” Lilith encourages and points in Mary’s direction, whose chest is rising and falling in rapid succession. 

Zelda is more than a little irritated that she’s being watched, having to perform for someone instead of taking the moment for what it is, to enjoy Mary like she has wanted to do for the better part of a year. It should cheapen the experience but _ damn _, she also burns at the idea of Lilith watching, of looking exactly like Mary with voyeuristic eyes as she takes what she wants. 

She moves to Mary now but is hesitant in touch. Moving her eyes up and down her body, she feels nervous for a myriad of reasons. Of doing this right, of having Lilith’s discerning eye on her, of messing up something that’s still on wobbly legs. 

“Is it okay? Can I?” Zelda shakily asks, her fingers unsure of what to do with themselves until she gets an answer. Lilith makes a noise to the side, no doubt at her asking permission which she would never do. Or wouldn’t have in the past. 

Mary removes her frames, sets them on the nearby table and reaches up to the tight bun, removing the restraints and letting it tumble down. She bends over to take out all the strands and flips it back over, making Zelda’s throat positively dry when only moments ago it was a wellspring. She closes the gap between their bodies and takes both of Zelda’s hands, wrapping her left around her waist and bringing the right to softly cup her breast. 

“You can touch me,” Mary responds as her eyes flutter to a close as Zelda chances a move that grazes her thumb pad across the outline of the nipple she can just make out through the fabric. 

She finds herself forgetting about the version of Mary Lilith is occupying nearby and strictly focusing on the one in front of her and underneath the touch of her fingers as she moans into her mouth in a searing kiss. Her hand greedily moves across Mary and she is no longer touching her but cupping her too, hefting the weight of her in her hands. She feels so good and Zelda is reduced to sounds and touch, auditory and kinesthetics that relay to the world how she’s feeling. 

Somewhere deep into the kiss, Mary’s breasts become not enough, even as she removes them from restraint, and she’s descending down the plane of the olive skin of her stomach, going lower to where she can feel heat emanating. She pulls Mary’s undergarment aside, half afraid to find no response but her heart hitches when she comes into contact with her most sacred of places. The wonderful wet heat of her as she runs an experimental touch down the length of Mary with one of her digits.

“Zelda,” Mary’s voice hitches when she’s touched and Zelda absolutely can’t stand much foreplay, already too far gone to waste any time with pleasantries. One finger from Mary will probably send her through the roof. 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Zelda pants out, pulling Mary’s leg up to give her better access down below. She kisses her again and fights with the now soaked material, thumb doing tight little circles.

Her own need has to be as visible as it is through scent in the air, or so Lilith had said. She drags Mary across the room to the couch and puts her on her lap, staring up at her through a wild mess of brown curls. Then? Mary dives, plunges into the waters of whatever this thing is between them and how has Zelda gone her entire life without this woman? How has she ignored her over the years? Is this who she has always been or has Lilith coated the very fibers of her being and made her who is now devouring the air from her lungs?

Zelda rakes her fingers down Mary’s thighs and takes her underwear with her, yanking them roughly down her legs and off of her feet. This causes Mary to have to raise her core higher, closer to Zelda’s face and she’s going to die, life-ending right here and now with Mary’s pink glistening folds chest level with her and she has to let out a heavy sigh because what is air anymore? 

An eager hand snakes between them, rubs, and Zelda’s hips fly off the couch. She stifles her cry in the mountains and valley of Mary’s breasts, inhaling her skin and burning alive. Mary chooses a pace, continues to make clockwise motions on Zelda’s body and her head lolls back onto the back of the seat. She stares at the ceiling and listens to the downright deliciousness that Mary is speaking in her ears-things like _ how does that feel? _ and _ yes, that’s it _ , and _ tell me how to do this because I don’t know what I’m doing because I’ve only ever touched myself like this _ and Zelda wants to scream prematurely. 

Somehow, some way, she is able to lift the heft of her own head and cobble enough sense to bat Mary’s hand away to stop her from coming with her clothes all on. She pins Mary’s hip to her thighs and asks those crystalline eyes permission before driving two fingers into her. Her wrist hits Mary’s body which leaves a sheen of fluid on her, the fact of which swells her chest. 

Her pace is easy at first but as her own body wails in agony wanting to get half of what its giving, she raises and moves her hold on Mary’s hips to her back. This allows for two things to happen: she’s able to sit upright more and Mary is able to ride her fingers which curl with every swivel of her hips.

And because she’s sitting up and Mary is riding her in such a way, she’s able to watch Lilith with steady eyes. 

The demoness has uncrossed her legs and has them slightly apart, playing with the hem of her black dress. Zelda can see up the fleshy part of her thighs on the inside, the same ones that she looks down and sees her hand wedged between.

She's been alive for so incredibly long but everything pales in comparison to what’s happening. Lilith is burning holes into her, blue meeting green, watching her go in and out of Mary with more determination than she’s ever had during a physical experience. She wants to mouth _ touch yourself _ to her but Lilith’s lips turn upward into a devilish smile and she then looks faux innocent as she points to herself and wags a finger. The same one that, seconds later, makes its way slowly down her body. 

“I’m going to come,” Zelda says in disbelief, still not even one shred of clothing off her body. 

“Wait, no!” Mary cries and comes to a stop which almost gives Zelda a heart attack at the thought, so she outmaneuvers her from stopping and flips her to where she’s hovering over her and holding her down. 

“What are you doing?” Mary shakes her head anguish.

“Doing this right way,” Zelda tries to calm herself off the ledge and takes Mary’s hand to help drag her leggings down her body. 

The answering gulp as the material slides down her legs is all Zelda needs as reassurance that she’s done the right thing. When she kicks them off her feet, she reaches to pull her sweater overhead. It falls to the floor with an unceremonious plop. Her bra comes off in quick succession and then she’s lying skin to skin against Mary and feeling better than she has in her life. 

With more grace, she slows down and runs a finger up herself before collecting moisture and then entering her again. It’s slower this time and she reminds herself to shower the amazing creature in front of her with passionate kisses as she works against and into her body. 

Unbeknownst to her, Lilith shifts with dissipating comfort at the sight. 

There’s little outside of Zelda’s mind save for hot breath, the beading of sweat at her temple, the way her fingers move, the sounds of the both of them panting together magnificently. 

All too soon it seems, she can discern the coiling of muscles internally and knows that Mary is close. She wants this to last forever, to never end, to die here like this in the throes of passion. But then she feels the push and pull of inevitability, Mary crying out in her ear as she pulls Zelda close. She rides the wave with her, lets her fingers work still as she presses her lips to the pebbled peak of a nipple. 

When it’s over, Zelda slowly extracts her hand and brings it to rest on Mary’s side. The remnants of their lovemaking cling still and warmth spreads throughout Zelda like a blanket. 

Zelda raises her head to look in Mary’s eyes, afraid yet of what she will find there. There are few words to be had. She’s a mess down below, slickness and heat just waiting for an outcome. Mary seems to know this and shifts them to where they’re lying squeezed side by side on the couch, Zelda having a perfect view of Lilith still immobile nearby.

“Is this okay?” Mary wants to know. “I could always do...something else.” 

Her fingers lightly whisper against the outside of Zelda’s core which causes her eyes to drift shut lazily. She just wants to be touched, to be filled up and whole. This thought sends her own hand southward to wrap around Mary’s, to fold it so that two fingers are poised. Looking deep into the permafrost eyes, she plunges Mary into her and lets out a ripped cry into the air. 

“Oh my,” she hears nearby and wants Lilith to _ shut up _, but then Mary is moving her fingers just so and Zelda can’t bark out a reprimand. All because, as much as she feels her blood boil thinking about Lilith watching her get pleasured by Mary, it also turns her on incredibly. 

She’s climbing a mountain, reaching higher and higher with every pump of Mary’s hands. She’s lost in the feel of it, mumbling simply constructed words such as _ you feel so good inside me _ and _ I’ve been thinking about this _ and _ you’re incredible _. 

Zelda shouldn’t-she absolutely, 100% shouldn’t- open her eyes to look at Lilith but she does, always curious where the demoness is, what she’s doing, what she might feel. Lilith’s lips form another smirk and she burns a hole into Zelda, reaches her hand down and slowly pulls up the fabric of her dress to reveal absolutely nothing underneath.

With that, Zelda’s gone. A scream slices the air to shards, her throat downright guttural as she comes and comes and comes. Her hips jerk into Mary’s fingers and she rides the wave until she’s left stranded on the banks of it, hollowed out and lacking bone to move. 

When her eyes unscrew shut, ease slightly away from the wild mane of Mary’s hair and the clutch of their bodies together, she sees the empty chair across the room and her heart stutters in her chest. 


	13. Of Celebrations and Agony

February stretches its arms lazily as the day breaks misty and bitterly cold. While no wind ravages their bodies, the stillness of it all freezes Zelda to the bone. Her toes burn inside the confines of her boots, her fingers feel foreign tucked inside the pockets of her sturdy jacket, and her face is raw from exposure. 

As if she weren’t already fifty shades of pale anyway, the weather sends her complexion into summer sunburn on a beach territory. Which sends another warm, rogue thought throughout her body-of a lifetime ago when she actually saw mountains and oceans and whole worlds other than outside her own door. 

The infernal flames of hell would be a welcome sight and feeling right about now, but Zelda has heard little and seen none of its ruler. Not since…

_ Mary’s _ . 

It’s been two weeks since the weird events at Mary’s cabin. Her own hand has had to do some work between her thighs since then, so busy with a similar spectacle like in front of them, she’s had little time to ask for a repeat from Mary or even see her. Instead, it’s been a few heated and stolen kisses between spending her life in this gods-forsaken clearing. 

She’s said little in the better part of an hour, interjecting a few questions here and there but that’s it. Nothing has passed between her and the angel mom, who kicks up a trail in front of the latest demon standing out in stark contrast from the stripped branches. 

Some part of her, she guesses, should feel awkward after the events of the confrontation at the cottage, but she just feels tired as she watches Malack stalk angrily back and forth. Zelda can sense her on edge, her emotions like cracking static in the air. As for herself, Zelda feels indifferent. Another day, another demon. This one is strung by garrote wire wrapped around it and digging into its skin.

“He comes soon, with wings of black death and destruction left in his wake. All of earth shall tremble, hell shall pitch and writhe. Second only to Lucifer, he will guide us to our true purpose,” the demon slurs. 

Zelda’s heart picks up its pace and she watches as Malack leans in deathly close, whispering to the beast. “You will answer to no one soon. Your realm will be in shambles and I will be there holding the sword that cut them down in the name of righteousness.” Her wings expand quickly, a bright flash, and then a severed head rolls to Zelda’s feet, sinew and bone cauterized.

She doesn’t even offer Zelda a look as she passes. Shoulders sagging, Zelda can’t muster it in her to follow. The blank eyes of the demon stare up at her and she tries to focus her mind, tries to comb through lore to get the answer that’s tickling. 

“You’re in a fine form today,” Zelda goads instead, yelling out in the space between them. 

Malack turns with a bewildered look in her eyes, quickly changing to staggering fury. “I didn’t see you lifting a finger to help.”

“What would you have me do anymore?” Zelda sighs. 

“It’s your job now!” Malack loses her cool. “I do this every day because I’m commanded to. I walk this place and I rid it of things like that. You could easily be taken out of this equation though. I don’t have to work with your queen. Or you.”

“Then don’t,” Zelda says simply. “Go back to your shadows and do what you’ve always done. I didn’t ask for you to be here. I didn’t ask you to help Lilith. You chose that on your own.”

Malack laughs loudly in incredulity. It comes out as a rough bark. “You’re so influenced by her, you can’t find where she ends and you begin anymore.”

“My soul was given to darkness long ago. Lilith has nothing to do with it.”

“And the second you wanted to turn from that, you’d be welcomed,” Malack responds. She stops and there is something in her eyes Zelda is just beginning to notice.  _ Not her too _ . “But you won’t, will you? Because of her.”

“You’re acting like a scorned lover,” Zelda scolds and laughs a little. 

Malack goes incredibly still and Zelda has to will her heart to stop going a mile a minute. When the angel lifts her head, her honeyed eyes hold a lot. She kicks the ground and then sighs heavily, looking up at the sky. Her eyes close and she inhales the cold air. 

“I don’t know romantic love, so I wouldn’t know,” she says finally. She opens her eyes again and stares at Zelda. “But I do care for you. It does...bother me to think of your soul spending eternity in the underworld. You’re not worthy of that.”

“Some people aren’t worth saving,” Zelda shrugs. 

“You won’t even let me try!” Malack cries and waves her hands.

“Because I don’t need it!” Zelda yells. “You speak of us and our ignorance, but your kind walk around dealing out retribution to any who fail to join your ranks. A lot of witch’s blood is on the hands of angels lately. Too much for my liking.”

Malack’s eyes burn with fury and she runs a hand through her brown mane, tossing it wildly to the side. This is the most undone Zelda has ever seen her, her cheeks pink with emotion and eyebrows knit together permanently it seems. She throws her hands up again and a look crosses her face that signals she’s about to say something she can’t believe. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” she covers her mouth and looks at the ground. 

“Do what?” Zelda punches back hatefully.  _ So tired _ . 

“This! With you!” Malack cries and Zelda feels as if she’s been slapped across the face. “I can’t come to this hell-on-earth place one more day and kill another demon with you. I can’t pretend to condone anything you’re doing or going to do because you’re going to wind up dead and I’ll blame myself for it.”

“I don’t need you to protect me!” Zelda yells back and she’s well and truly angry now. “I’ve survived one hundred and twenty six years without you. I’m doing just fine.”

“And were you also entangled with a demoness slash queen of hell, traipsing around with mortals too?”

“I was stabbing a Megiddo forged blade into Lucifer Morningstar’s back ten months ago. Don’t presume to tell me what kind of danger I’ve been in.”

Malack glares at her and begins to walk away, back to the road they stood near on a cold and misty January day. Has it only been a month of this? Forever cracks her bones and worms its way into the grooves, weighting her body down. 

“Whatever,” she hears the angel say before she leaves. 

She should not say anything, let her leave in her grumpy mood but something else foreboding whispers against Zelda’s senses and she feels panic start to rise a little. This propels her to get the last word in. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” she says across the gap between their bodies. A growing chasm.

Malack stops at the sound of her voice for a second, shuffles in her steps. “Tell your queen that Abaddon comes and with him, swallowing darkness.”

Zelda loses her in a blink, now solely alone in the forest. The wind picks up, whips her cheeks and hair. Freezes her insides to ice. Turns the impossible tear sliding down her cheek into slush. 

*************************

The hallways are practically teeming with enamor, hands and mouths pawing at every chance they can to connect, touch. Locker doors stay open a little longer, bodies linger for a while, bells ring and life stands still despite the trilling of the bells overhead. 

Time and time again, teddy bears and balloons and flowers and chocolates are puzzle pieced into storage spaces mixing with textbooks, backpacks, and lunches. All around, reds and pinks and whites turn the corridors into love bent strolls for couples. 

Bathrooms, bleachers, and book rooms offer sanctuary for would be lovers and Mary Wardwell finds herself constantly locking doors and walking in areas where a stray body might lurk. She’s taken back to winter formal, now almost three months ago, the hormones just as overflowing, if not more so. 

Passing period sounds again and for once, she’s grateful to not have to rush to a class. Instead, she can lean against the wall and watch the students walk by, smiling at them but making her presence known in case any of them get any untoward ideas. She watches as people mill about, chance a little PDA under her watchful eyes. 

She, for the most part, let’s them do it. It is Valentines after all. Normally the day would bring with it a sense of melancholy, so used to spending it alone that the day would pass by without any pomp. Adam was usually on some other continent, much too busy to even call. A belated card would inevitably follow, wishing her good tidings on a day of love. When his body should have been next to her, inside of her, showing her the true meaning of the day. 

Fidgeting, she fights the clawing sentiment and tries to abandon it. Honestly speaking, she’s spent many a Valentine alone, instead resorting to crying during cheesy Hallmark movies while eating her sorrow in some way or another before polishing herself off physically to some shapeless daydream of being loved. 

But even this year, she can’t escape the prospect of possibility. While life is still beyond confusing and the details of her life the past year are a dark swirling mass of confusion, one clear point sticks: Zelda Spellman. 

She wonders if any passerby notices the delicate creep of color across her chest and up her neck at the thought of the strawberry haired witch. The movie reel to their coupling has played in her mind and on her eyes dozens of times and she can’t find it in herself to be repulsed by the turn of events, as she should.  _ Even though that Lilith had been there… _

The events of the six months she’s missing are still a gnarled mess, her fingers shaking occasionally when she moves or her mind going brutally still. It’s like the woman known as Lillith who stole her body has left parts of herself behind, coating her with an unmalleable darkness. 

Is that why she had agreed to fuck Zelda Spellman with the demoness watching on? Would the her from before those six months have ever done such a thing?

There’s a tearing sound and Mary flinches as something waves in front of her face angrily, the breeze from the object ruffling the curls of her hair. 

“You’re just as bad as them,” Ms. Malack growls. The shredded heart poster is crumpled in her hands. 

“I beg your pardon?” Mary asks, bringing a hand to her chest as her eyes go wide. The woman steps incredibly close as the tardy bell rings. She seems unable to hear it though and lowers her voice to gravel. 

“You’re in way over your head,” she warns and is that her breath Mary can feel being sucked into her own? Because she’s that close. 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Ms. Malack and I don’t appreciate…”

“Seven months,” Malack cuts her off. “I’ve been here for seven months and you’ve progressively gotten more sucked into the very thing I’ve been trying to keep you out of.”

Mary wants to ask her precisely what she’s talking about but has enough good sense to surmise this has something to do with Lilith and doesn’t offer a rebuttal. She’s ached silently, torn herself to shreds over the implications of what her involvement with Zelda Spellman means, despite her knowing full well she was dead and now back to life because of the same being. 

“It just feels nice,” she offers by way of explanation, a flimsy sounding one though against the anger radiating from nearby.  _ Nice to be noticed. Nice to not be alone.  _ Dare she think it,  _ nice to be loved _ . She doesn’t ask what the  _ thing _ is, forgetfully. 

“Nice, she says,” Malack nods like she understands. Mary doubts she does. 

How can she have an inkling of what she’s been through? This woman standing in front of her is a colleague, not even a friend. She’s acting protective but she doesn’t even know her at all. It’s this that comes out of her mouth without permission. 

“I don’t know you? I know more than you can even imagine,” Malack says lowly. 

She’s creeping in again, turning so that she’s touching Mary’s shoulder and she’s socked in the chest with a feeling she can’t even begin to describe. It’s like pure light is stabbing into her and she turns to look bewildered at the body brushing against her. 

“You lost six months last year. Can’t explain where they went but you woke up one evening out of what felt like a dream. That’s because your soul was wandering around in limbo while a demoness of hell possessed your body and was chaos walking in Greendale. 

You sometimes have visions of your missing time that makes you weep so hard, only sinking into the waters of your bath will hide them. You were engaged but he was killed to show Lilith a lesson, that mortals are bendable to will. That happiness is a supposed construct. That complacency means death.”

Ms. Malack’s eyes have gone from brown to honey colored, amber pools of swirls. Mary feels herself gasp at the change, at the detailed narrative of her life that she partially can’t remember and does with stark clarity on the other. 

“What are you?” she threads enough sense together to say. 

She may have missed out on a lot, but she knows now that she isn’t dealing with something human. Is she a witch like Zelda? A creature as sinister as Lilith? If that is so, why had she said the bit about protecting her? Apprehension rises and she realizes she’s afraid of the answer. 

The woman turns as if to ignore her but then steps in front of her. Her body contorts slightly and Mary gasps as large wings unfurl from somewhere out of sight. 

“You’ve fallen for Zelda Spellman,” Malack says quietly. “And that? It’s a dangerous thing.”

*************************

She finds herself standing on Mary’s doorstep at dusk, gripping a bottle of wine in one hand as her searing red nails scrape the glass of the bottle in nervousness and vice holding a bouquet in the other. Agreeing to spend time together on this gods forsaken holiday has supplied her body with expectations that she hasn’t felt in centuries and she feels absolutely ridiculous and horribly mortal as she waits for an answer to the door. 

It opens and Zelda is instantly hit by a delectable aroma, which sends her mouth watering. The other being the sight of Mary Wardwell. She’s a vision in a black leather skirt, cherry colored top, and hair swept around her face in wild waves. For a moment, fear rears its head hard.  _ Lilith _ is all her brain can think.

But then the softly painted pink lips form a warm smile and Zelda has a chance to peer into the woman’s eyes for any sign of possession. Finding no other soul behind them, other than the goodness of Mary’s, she allows herself to be pulled in. She’s awkward in the embrace and is mildly disappointed when she’s on the receiving end of a chaste kiss to the cheek considering what has happened between her and the woman delivering it. 

_ Don’t alarm yourself _ , she scolds silently.  _ Everything’s okay.  _

Entering the abode, she sits the bottle on the small table and reaches to rub her neck as remembers Mary perched atop it, flustered. Zelda holds on the floral arrangement in the plastic wrapping and tries her best to feel confident. Fingers brush against her own and a murmured  _ thank you _ hit her ears, warming her a little. Mary makes a makeshift vase out of a glass, pops the cork on the bottle. and pours her a glass of the maroon liquid. Zelda takes it gladly despite it not even being a drink she really likes. Wine, however, seemed more Valentine-esque than pouring shot after shot of bourbon. 

“Something smells nice,” Zelda says to break the silence and Mary’s lips quirk at the statement. And of course, Zelda would like to be smooth and witty about what she’s said but there's a lot piled up on her shoulders.

“Dinner is in the oven, so we've got a few minutes yet,” Mary smiles again and saunters over to Zelda who’s breathing becomes more shallow with every step. 

Mary lets her arms circle Zelda’s waist, pokes her nose into the hair sitting on her shoulders and nudges it aside. A hitch of breath, a nudge of skin touching skin, and Mary’s mouth is on her where the fabric of her blouse doesn’t touch. 

Zelda loses herself in it, two weeks of desolace and needing this so. Perhaps it’s this, perhaps it’s the holiday, but she closes her eyes and entwines their tongues like it's the last thing she’ll ever do. Adjectives surface, meager ones though. Things like  _ good _ and  _ full _ and  _ happy _ swim in her consciousness.

A beep from somewhere in the house stills her wandering hands and Mary backs away from the kiss apologetically. 

“I thought there was more time,” she says sheepishly but then leads Zelda by the hand to the table set up for the two of them. Candles flicker and she pulls a chair out for Zelda rather chivalrously. “M’lady.”

She waves with a flourish and Zelda feels her cheeks pink at the downright silliness and wonderfulness of this mortal woman. Oh, how far she’s fallen. She plays off the gesture though with a roll of her eyes and sits in the proffered chair. Mary’s moves out of sight for a few moments and then brings back heaping plates full of mouthwatering morsels. Everything smells downright entrancing. It hits Zelda that this was all done for her. For them. Her heart feels even more deeply.

Mary refills her glass and reaches across the table to grab hold of Zelda’s hand. “I’m so glad we are getting to spend the evening together.” 

“Me too,” Zelda practically melts. “I’ve not been a fan of all this ‘two ships passing in the night’ thing we’ve been doing.”

“No,” Mary says with a frown and pulls back, picking up her fork. She takes a bite and then slants her head to the side. “You must have something keeping you terribly busy.”

Zelda stills mid-bite and  _ for fuck’s sake _ , are they really going to get into it on Valentines? She’s only mentioned little tidbits to Mary about what’s been keeping her occupied, leaning more toward omission of truth than an outright lie. Still, this feels foreboding. 

“Here and there,” Zelda shifts, growing increasingly uncomfortable as each second passes. 

She watches as Mary wraps her lacquered pink nails around her wine glass and takes a generous sip. It’s hard to judge whether or not a power play is occurring. What Mary says next stills her completely. 

“Ms. Malack stopped me in the hall this morning,” Mary says nonchalantly. 

And if Zelda was uncomfortable before, she feels like the walls are closing in now. The heat is suddenly unbearable, the food in her mouth dry. She has to grab at her wine and take in a large gulp to wash down what she’s put into her mouth. 

Nothing in Greendale stays a secret for long, but she’s worked to protect this one with her life. Not wanting Sabrina to twist it out of control and make it worse or Hilda to become involved or Ambrose to risk his neck anymore, she’s dealt with it herself. There’s the circle of her, Malack, and Lilith and so far, that’s been enough. Now it’s a rectangle and Zelda doesn’t quite feel good with the changing shape. So, instead, she feigns ignorance. She takes another sip of her wine. 

“Oh? She does seem to have a way of interrupting a person’s tasks at hand,” Zelda hums.  _ If only Mary had a clue… _

“She warned me off of you.”

Zelda lets out a barking laugh and fights not to completely dismiss what’s been said. Because as much as she’d like to, this interference could spell trouble. 

“You’re joking,” she continues to laugh. Mary’s face is serious though and she brings in another bite to her mouth. 

“Oh, that I were,” she says rather seriously and  _ bloody hell _ , this isn’t the way everything is supposed to go. 

“Pay her no mind,” Zelda growls. “She’s easy to get worked up.”

“Did you know that she’s an angel? Not a metaphorical one, like an actual, literal angel from Heaven,” Mary says with a gesture of her hands down toward the table. 

The food that was once appetizing looks so no more as Zelda is pretty sure her stomach can’t handle another ounce. Mary has proven time and time again she can deal with the far-out and unbelievable but the one thing Zelda had managed to keep hold of fails to remain secret.

“It may have come up,” Zelda downplays. 

“How long ago?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters! Why must I always prove something to you to show you I’m capable of handling it? What do I have to do to earn your trust?” Mary looks pained and Zelda can’t stand it. 

“It’s what I do, okay? It’s what I’ve done my entire life. I bring people into the world. I protect them at all costs. I’ve tried to protect you from the things I thought were too beyond belief, but I can’t keep up with all of it anymore and I’m doing a terrible job.” Mary’s gone still and Zelda stands, grabbing her glass roughly off the table. Liquid sloshes over and she shakes it off of her hand, begins pacing the wooden floor. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Mary rises from the table then and rounds it to meet Zelda who stops pacing when she sees her stand. She watches her movements as she tries to steady Zelda’s agitation, tries to steady her own. She closes her eyes and furrows her brow, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Her blue eyes open then and fixate on Zelda. “There’s just so much I still don’t understand. Things I thought existed only in books and fairy tales. Witches, demons, angels. It’s just been a lot to take in, but I think I’ve handled it quite well for the most part. It’s not as if I’ve grabbed a gun and have taken to hunting the things that go bump in the night.”

She laughs, but it falls short. Zelda looks up from her eyes being downcast, a worrisome look contorting her normally poised features. She lets her finger curl under Mary’s chin. “I’ll do anything I can to protect you from everything,” Zelda breathes. 

It’s not a hollow promise in Zelda’s heart. She means the words with every fiber of her being. Mary’s brows knit together in sympathy though, like she knows that the world and beyond holds more than either of them are capable of combating. 

“Together?” Mary asks meaning  _ are we in this?  _ and Zelda wraps her arm around her waist, brings their foreheads together. 

“Take me to bed,” Zelda says in a breathy sigh. Fingers encircle her own. She follows obediently behind Mary down the hall. 

***********************

This time had been slower than the last, less build up and infinitely more normal than the last. The quietness of it struck Zelda the most, how the only sounds were the two of them and nothing else. The night had held off its ambient noise and nothing stirred within.

She makes circles on the bare freckled back, covers the pressure points her fingers make with soft touches of her lips. Just as she reaches the curve of her lower back, a hard thump hits the glass above Mary’s bed. Both bodies jump at the sound, Zelda’s lips hovering mid-air in wait. Just as she’s about to shrug it off, another ping against the window. Then another. Another. Now in more rapid succession. 

Zelda rises from Mary’s body, pulls on her silken robe nearby and ties the sash. The noise keeps pattering in their ears and as Mary makes to rise, Zelda holds up a hand in warning. 

“Get dressed, quickly. But don’t follow me,” Zelda commands. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mary asks, a hint of concern rising in her voice. 

A rather loud thump startles them both and Zelda can just make out the scritch-scratch of wings beating rapidly. Mary wraps the sheet tighter around her and draws her knees in. When Zelda looks at her, she can see the worry in the woman’s eyes and her heart constricts. Rounding the bed to her side, Zelda places a firm hand on her arm, wraps one in her hair and kisses her.

“Don’t worry, my darling. I’ll be back,” she tries to assure with confidence she doesn’t feel. She throws Mary a small smile and tries not to run to the door. As she reaches for the knob, she stalls. “Promise me you’ll stay here. Please.”

When she doesn’t hear anything, she turns around with pleading eyes brimming with tears. Mary looks shocked and opens her mouth to speak then the pinging on the window begins to sound like rain. Zelda does run then, down the narrow hallway and to the cottage entrance, stuffing her feet into a pair of slippers. Without thinking, she throws open the door and is met by a plague. 

Thousands of locusts swarm, covering every surface and clogging the air. Somehow, she manages to throw the door shut and stagger to the edge of the porch, hand shielding her eyes and pulling her robe to cover her nose and mouth. Her eyes go wide and she loses the very oxygen in her lungs as she peers out across the yard of Mary Wardwell’s home. 

At the edge of the property, a lull in the horde. She shields her eyes to look past the bright light of the gleaming sword to the three beings on horse poised nearby. Their faces, heavens, look mortal. Long hair slides down their forms but when they smile, their teeth are as sharp as predators. On their body, iron breastplates cover them and wings as pitch as night stretch out on end. 

Malack looks small in comparison to the lot of the three, her own wings no longer gleaming white but a mottled beige. She holds up a hand and speaks words Zelda can barely make out at the distance between them. She sucks in a breath and all around, the insects freeze in place. The faces of the creatures whip to look at her and give her toothy smiles. 

She’s rattling off an incantation before she has time to process what’s happening-

_ Qui affect protego, _

_ iubas serpentibus et ligamentum meis stirpique _

_ meae domum meam mixtisque, _

_ et deducet I ruunt ut i present servate innoxias potest momenta. _

And Mary’s name is said amid the words, every fair hair of her family’s head protected as well, hopefully, as she repeats the Latin verse over and over again. She says one for Malack who spins as soon as she hears her name but turns her attention back to the beings as they start to laugh. 

“This is what you fight to protect, Power?” they hiss in unison. “Mortals who shun you and witches who never sided with you in the first place. How easy you will be to end. How easy you will die.

Zelda’s crossing the space between them, lost in adrenaline and fear. More Latin flows from her lips as she tries to recite every single battle offensive attack she can conjure. A loud screeching keen fills the air and the horseman scatter into a million locusts bodies. Malack lunges then, catches the transmogrification of one and slices through it with violent light and force. A shockwave erupts and knocks them both off of her feet and to their knees. When Zelda looks back up, Malack is on the ground and one of the creatures is standing over her with a spear dripping in a sludge-like material pointed at her chest.

Zelda screams but it does no good. The spear impales the angel in the chest. The creature puts a carapace foot on Malack’s shoulder and leans into the handle, shoving it further in. Zelda watches in horror. She’s frozen in place, can do nothing now. Just when she thinks it’s over, Malack grasps the hilt of her sword and lunges into the body above her. Now her scream rips the air and Zelda watches as she brings the weapon more into her body, the spear’s tip protruding out her flesh and brown goop pooling behind, mixing with crimson blood. 

Now there is only one of the creatures left hanging in a distance but it stops to pull the spear from Malack and makes its way toward Zelda with squishing stomps. She throws up her hands and speaks another round of spells, her last stand as the spear hurdles through the air toward her. She sees her magic isn’t working and braces for impact. Her eyes shut and a gurgling sound fills her ears. She’s not in pain like she should be. Why?

Opening her eyes, she sees Mary standing in front of her with her back to Zelda. The spear sticks out of her gut and the creature yanks it back, creating a sucking sound as it’s pulled from her body. Zelda is absolutely shattered. She loses all ability to function as Mary falls to her knees.

She crumbles with her, catching her body as it falls into her arms. Her hands work frantically to stop the bleeding as it bubbles out. She rips the fabric of Mary’s robe and sees the skin around the wound turning black. Dying. 

Tears come in rivers then and she’s sobbing loudly, so hard that she doesn’t even notice the disappearance of the final entity. All that she sees is death swirling and she can barely gather enough breath to scream out. 

“Hilda!” she calls in agony and looking at Mary’s blue eyes in anguish, she feels as if she’s been stabbed too. Through time and space, she pleads to Lilith to let her sister hear her and show up. The woman materializes almost instantly and Zelda is hysterical. “Hilda, help them!”

Hilda looks around at the scene, the insect remnants lying around and glances down at Mary who is clinging to life by a thread. But still alive. Nearby, the other body is unmoving and she hurries to it, placing a hand at the throat of the angel. Her face is grim and she shakes off her nerves, moving her hand over the chest wound. A muttered incantation sends her hand back with a sting. 

“Zelds, it’s not working! My healing spell. She’s alive, but I’m being rebuffed on my efforts.”

Below her, she hears a faint noise and glances to see Mary moving her hand to tangle in the fiery red flames of her hair. Zelda nuzzles into the touch and tries to bat away tears that still fall while the other hand works to staunch the bleeding still occurring at Mary’s stomach.

“I told you to stay inside,” Zelda chokes out. “I told you to promise.”

For a stark instance, Mary’s breath isn’t ragged and her eyes are clear. Everything stops around them as Zelda hears her. 

“I love you” she whispers. 

“Don’t you dare do this, Mary. Don’t you dare!” Zelda is growing more hysterical by the second and then Hilda is by both of their sides and Zelda is screaming as Mary’s eyes close. “Mary!”

But even she knows her sister is too late. The skin at the entry site festers and goes necrotic. Mary sucks in a labored breath and never does again. From the shadows, the beating of wings and Zelda can’t even bring herself to turn to see the last of the creatures coming for her and Hilda. 

Her sister's eyes go wide and she grabs onto Zelda’s shoulder to prepare for the worst. Spear raised, the final horseman hisses then wails as its head is severed from its body. It rolls beside the sisters and disintegrates in a writhing mess of arthropod bodies. At this, Zelda does turn to see Lilith behind them, eyes burning with hellfire and fury. 

She looks down at Zelda but appears as nothing more than a blurry image because of tears. Zelda wants to rage, to flog her and ask her why she’s just now showing up. She wants to scream in her face and then kiss her and never let her go. 

Hilda sits back on her bottom and puts her head in her hands, silent. Lilith surveys the scene-the angel immobile mere steps away, the youngest sister Spellman feeling inadequate, the oldest distraught and her love lying dead on the ground. 

“Lilith, do something,” Zelda cries and moves her bloody hand away from Mary to touch her black heels. 

Lilith doesn’t shirk away from the touch nor slink at the use of her name versus her title. She looks down at Zelda with pity and tries her best to quiet the emotions burning inside. She knows what she says next has to be delicate. 

“You’ve seen how resurrection spells work,” she says softly. 

“I don’t care!” Zelda yells and stands. 

She’s right in front of Lilith’s face now, a breath away. Lilith can see the confused heartbreak there as she stares at her, stares of the face of the dead woman on the ground. Lilith goes to speak but Zelda kisses her, hard, and she’s reeling. There’s teeth and tongue and her fingers graze tear-stained cheeks to gain purchase. The eldest Spellman moves back and rests her head against the demonesses. 

“Zelda,” Lilith sighs but she’s cut off with another kiss, this one softer and more delicate. Lilith knows she’s kissing her. 

“I’m in love with you,” Zelda continues. “I’m in love with her. The both of you. I’m sorry.”

Lilith has known this for quite some time, even before she had shown up in her chambers and wanted the world, which she had denied to her then. Which she must deny to her, yet again. 

“I can’t bring her back,” Lilith answers. “I love you, but I can’t do it this time. Her end was by my own hand in the past but not this time. Abbadon’s minions crossed before I could get to them.” She’s met with a hard shove and she holds Zelda tighter as she prepares for what’s next. 

“No, stop. I don’t believe you,” Zelda shakes her head in rejection of the words. She hits Lilith hard now, pounding her fists into the flesh of her body.  _ The flesh _ .

“I love you, Zelda, but it’s true. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“If you loved me, you’d bring her back!” Zelda sneers and points to the ground. Nearby, Hilda flinches at her tone and rises to her feet. 

“Zelda, honey…”

“No, Hilda. You will not speak another word if it’s to agree with her,” Zelda lets the tears come in earnest again. 

“Some things are beyond fixing,” Hilda takes hold of her from Lilith’s arms and soothes. 

“But she saved me! She sacrificed herself for me!”

“And that, my sweet Zelda, is one of the purest forms of love,” Lilith says. She steps to Mary’s body and cradles her head, places her other arm under her legs and lifts her into the air. The scene is so familiar because they’ve been here before, haven’t they? Lilith holding a body as she prepared to go back to hell.

“Lilith,” Zelda begs but Hilda holds her like a vice. 

“I’ll take good care of her. You’ll be together again one day,” Lilith assures and turns them both away from the entangled sibling pair. 

The mist nearby swallows them then and Zelda curls into her sister in a heap of tears. Hilda reaches out and touches the angel, tries to teleport them all to the mortuary. She finds that the bodies in her arms won’t move. 

Disconnecting, she makes a difficult choice and spirits her and her sister away. The angel stays on the ground in front of a home that no longer has an owner. 


	14. Learning to Live Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! I've got most of the last chapter written, but need to put the finishing touches on it. I hope to have it done by weeks end and update sometime within the next two weeks. Hope quarantine time is finding you well. albeit somewhat bored. Thanks for stopping by and every comment of kudos any of you leave.

There’s a reason why she had taken to midwifery and not developed her healing skills as well as her sister-she’d been awful at it. All of her life, she had blamed it on her  _ manos de piedra _ , a touch too firm to offer solace and repair. What she’s learned since then is that she doesn’t have the heart for it, so easily wearing it on her sleeve instead of leaving it functioning in her chest.

Maybe that’s why she’s able to care for Malack-she’s lost hers completely.

Once the haze of the events at Mary’s had dulled to something short of an incessant ache, she’d been able to finally focus on her sister’s discovery. Their magic, tied to the dark arts, couldn’t possibly work on a creature created from light. 

“When were you planning on telling me Sabrina’s teacher was an angel,” Hilda asks quietly as they both work to change the soiled bandage on the woman’s chest. She’s never opened her eyes, stuck in the realm of unconsciousness for a week.

“About the same time I told you that I was sleeping with Mary,” Zelda snaps and then hears herself. Hilda scoffs beside her.

“Oh, hah. That. Well, love, I think I’ve known that for a spell,” Hilda admits.

How long is the ‘spell’ she’s thinking of? Zelda doubts that Hilda even has a clue about the timeline of her relationship with Mary but she can’t find it in her to explain, much less even say anything else about the dead woman. _ I didn’t even get to tell her goodbye at a funeral _ .  _ Aren’t mortals supposed to have last rites? _ Instead, her body had been whisked away before Zelda could come to terms with everything.

“I didn’t know how,” Zelda finally admits to her sister. “Lilith asked me to investigate disturbances here in Greendale that the angel was sent to protect against. I felt guilty for not knowing about them at first, as high priestess, and then guilty for consorting with a celestial being to end the threat. I couldn’t just sit idly by though and watch as people I loved were threatened. You, Sabrina, Ambrose, our coven…”

“Mary,” Hilda finishes and Zelda can only nod a tearful confirmation. 

They gingerly lay down the wounded creature and Hilda covers her with a blanket to keep her from being exposed to the chill of the early March winds. They’ve forgone clothing mostly because lifting her in and out of a top would just prove more trouble than it’s worth. At first, they had tried every healing spell they’d known but ironically, the only remedies that seemed to work were natural ones. Mortal ones. They leave her to sleep but hope against hope that she will open her eyes again

And so the days pass, a rotating watch to keep up vigil. When Zelda isn’t attending to the fallen angel, she’s listless. The Academy holds little in the way of distraction and more often than not, she finds herself staring out the window with hazy focus, so lost in her own grief it’s hard to extricate herself from it.

Days turn to weeks. Spring springs up amid sorrow and Greendale turns the color in its namesake. Zelda finds herself on Mary’s front porch on a late April evening, flicking her wrist to magically pick the lock and enter. She walks in shadow memories, finds herself in front of her closet, fingers tracing the outline of dresses, blouses, and skirts. Her fingers snag one in particular, the one Mary had discarded dreamily as they had floated to her bed nearby their last night together. 

The ache of what’s been lost is just as profound as the day it happened and Zelda bunches the material against her face, trying to hug any life remaining. It smells like her and suddenly, Mary is everywhere. She can feel her touch and hear her voice echoing inside her head and the tears come again and honestly, how much can one person _ stand _ when it comes to a broken heart?

She falls into a dreamless, leaden sleep and only wakes with pangs shooting all throughout her body from the manner in which she’s stayed all night. When she leaves the cottage in the predawn light, she does so with a palm-full of Mary’s shirt.

This begins the almost nightly trek to the place where her life feels as if it stopped. Each time, she takes small mementos of the woman she’s lost and wonders when she will have lifted the entirety of the life left behind in the stasis of the home. In the place where Mary would continue on forever if Zelda never interrupted it.

At some point, Malack wakes and surveys her surroundings with a guilty eye. She hisses at the still recovering wound at her breast but says little until she’s gathered enough strength to move unaided. Zelda is outside of the door with fresh dressings but stops short as she hears low voices from within.

“What happened?” she hears her say.

Hilda gives her the amended version, its recollection staggering Zelda at the knees. She decides she can’t listen to another minute of it and enters as if she hasn’t spent the last five minutes on the other side of the door hearing everything. 

“I’ve come with fresh dressings and a medicinal salve. By this point though, quite frankly, you smell, so I think it’s time we brought you back to the land of the living,” Zelda ticks off in a clipped tone. The one she used to use. 

Shuffling out, Hilda leaves just the two of them and Zelda draws a bath. When Malack tries to rise, she does so on jellied legs and Zelda reaches out to steady her pacing. Instantly, she feels the light coursing into her from everywhere they touch, on onslaught. It almost knocks the breath from her and when she reaches the tub, she takes in a lungful of air.

Malack sits and looks like a drowned rat after several minutes. Water sluices down her from where Zelda has washed her long locks and her eyes look haunted when they turn to Zelda finally. She works around the wound, cleaning the edges and refusing to meet her eye.

“I’m going home,” Malack grimaces. This causes Zelda to still.

“Home…”

“Yes, home. I think it’s time.”

And while they haven’t really exchanged words since the hanging tree incident months ago, Zelda feels loss peg her square in the chest again. She’s spent countless hours with this being, fought and cried and told dark things she’s spoken to no one on earth or hell alike. 

“I’ll speak on your behalf,” Malack says quietly. “But I can’t guarantee anything.”

“On my behalf regarding what?” Zelda snaps involuntarily. She gets a little rougher than she would like against Malack’s skin and the angel bends over in pain, laying her forehead on the side of the tub as she waits for the feeling to subside.

“Mary.”

“I watched Lilith carry her to Hell. I hardly think the false god would have any say in the matter.”

“Things aren’t the way they used to be. Lines have been blurred. Many a soul has turned their back on my creator but Lilith isn’t the same woman that was cast out of the garden. She isn’t even the same demoness that came to Greendale a year ago. She’s changed. I attribute that to you,” she says wearily.

“I’m of no influence to Lilith,” Zelda dismisses but then feels a wet hand on top of hers, stopping her words.

“You’ve given her a garden in a lifetime of turmoil...” she reaches to touch Zelda’s heart. “Here. It may not seem like much, but you are a very powerful witch indeed.”

Zelda bats a tear away and tries to swallow the lump in her throat. “It’s as if I’m always losing someone lately. I don’t think I like it.”

“You have many lives to live yet. Don’t let this one sour you on the ones to come.” 

“Thank you,” Zelda whispers quickly.

They fall into silence then and she resumes the task at hand, dutiful until the end.

*********************

The angel leaves on a bright May morning. Zelda enters the guest room to find the bed made and no trace of her anywhere. As if she never existed at all. 

The void in her chest is now built for three: the queen she serves yet hasn’t seen in months, the companion and lover that was ripped from her life, and the enemy turned friend that she nursed back to health who climbed Jacob’s ladder back to Heaven.

The old saying goes,  _ time heals all wounds  _ and despite her resistance to believe it at first, when Greendale’s summer hits, the heat of June and July, she almost feels normal again. That is until the envelope in the mailbox is torn open at the end of the month and the flyer for Meet the Teacher is revealed. It flutters in the wind as it lays on the drive, discarded by the body moving quickly away from it back into the house.

Of course, Hilda insists on her attending. It’s Sabrina’s junior year, only two left before she’s off in the world and no longer under their roof. September comes and she’s standing in the halls of Baxter High again, pulling a shawl close to her body even though fall is still a few weeks off. Faces materialize and disappear. She goes through the motions because she has to, but there are ghosts of them everywhere. 

Hilda threads her arm through Zelda’s as they pass by Malack’s room but practically holds her upright as they edge closer to the front office,  _ Principal Wardwell _ being scratched off as they pass. Months to do it but instead, happening as Zelda passes. She tries not to see it as a sign but feels like she’s being punished anyway. 

They’re in the parlor that night then, soft lights illuminating the room and talk very thin. It’s enough though, just to have Hilda by her side and she thinks life wouldn’t be much living if her sister were not there. She makes a silent vow to never end her life again, more concerned now with keeping her by her side for as long as time will allow. Precious Hilda. The one constant in a lifetime of pain. 

Little has been spoken about the events of the late winter. Not that it’s because Hilda is no shrink, but Zelda can’t bear to tell her the deepest parts of her heart. They’re too fragile still and words aren’t good for them. She’s afraid they’d billow like ash were she to voice them aloud. 

Perhaps it’s the ending of summer and time slipping back to approaching darkness. Perhaps it’s the gym doors of Baxter High, the tug and pull of memories. Perhaps it’s all of it that finally loosens her lips to let the truth spill out. 

“I once remarked about what I’d done to deserve the women in my life. At that point, it was you and Sabrina. Lilith had just come into the picture, around the time of Jessie Putnum’s exorcism, but little did I know she’d been influencing Sabrina longer…” Zelda trails off. She looks down at the glass in her hands and continues on. “So much has changed. Back then, I didn’t appreciate what I had. Now, looking back, I was an incredible fool.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over things out of your control. You’ve always tried to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Look, I know I haven’t always been the best church member because of my beliefs, but I do truly think that everything works out as it’s supposed to.”

“Hilda, really…”

“I know I sound like a greeting card right now, but you’ll just have to trust your little sister on this, eh? Now drink up. It’s going to be a busy year and I’ve no doubt that Sabrina will have us run ragged by the end,” Hilda chirps and motions for Zelda to pick up her glass again. “To a new school year, to a year of healing and happiness.”

It’s weird to be toasting something other than the start of an actual new calendar year, to agree to an emotion she hasn’t felt in six months. If she’s learned anything over the past year though, it’s that life is sometimes lived for others, so she raises her beverage and clinks it with her sister’s.

“I miss them,” Zelda murmurs and stares into the amber liquid of her drink.

“I know, sister. I know,” Hilda soothes and leaves her own chair to join Zelda on the couch. She holds her then, time absent, love flowing. 


End file.
